


A River I Could Skate Away On

by coffeejunkii



Series: Birds and Bridges [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Birdwatching, Christmas, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Gender Issues, Hurtful comments toward a character's gender expression (not by Phil or Clint), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2018-12-19 06:48:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11892294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeejunkii/pseuds/coffeejunkii
Summary: Clint and Phil visit Phil's sister in Chicago for Christmas. There's joy and pain, but throughout it all, Clint and Phil rely on each other.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place during Christmas 2016 (because that's when I started writing it!). Finally a new part for this series!
> 
> Many thanks to Rurounihime for the beta. :) Title taken from Joni Mitchell's song "River."
> 
> For a heads-up about the gender identity issues in this chapter, please see the end notes.

As the cab pulls up in front of Jen and Mark’s house, Phil takes Clint’s hand. “I know you know this, but if it ever gets to be too much, no one will mind if you retreat to the guest room for a few hours or go for a walk.”

“Yeah, I know.” Clint is still grateful to Phil for mentioning it again. This is their third visit to see Phil’s family; maybe this will finally be the time when Clint feels like he belongs.

“Let’s do this.” Phil gives Clint’s hand a squeeze and opens the cab door.

They have barely stepped out on the sidewalk when the front door opens and Max comes barreling down the sloping sidewalk in a blur of tulle and sequins. “Clint! You’re here!”

Clint’s throat tightens and he drops to his knees, not giving a damn that his jeans get soaked in the wet grass. He opens his arms. Max barely stops when he reaches Clint and nearly knocks him over. Clint folds the boy into his arms.

This is what he’s been looking forward to the most about going to Chicago for Christmas: getting to see Max again and giving him a hug or ten. Skype is nice, but it’s no substitute for this. Judging by the way that Max clings to Clint, he agrees.

“I missed you,” Max whispers. 

“I missed you so, so much,” Clint replies. He closes his eyes. Max has grown since Clint last saw him during the summer, but he’s still a skinny kid that feels too fragile in Clint’s arms.

“Come inside already,” Jen calls through the open door. “You’re going to catch your death out there.”

Clint lets go of Max with great reluctance. He stands and realizes that the cab is gone and Phil is waiting next to their bags. “Sorry. Got carried away.”

Phil looks at him fondly. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Turning to Max, he says, “Do I get a hug, too? Or are they only for Clint?”

Max shakes his head and presses himself close to Phil. “Hi!”

Phil tousles his hair. “Let’s head inside. Knowing Jen, there are warm drinks waiting.”

Clint grabs both their bags. “Yes, please. Chicago is cold as fu—“ He pauses. “Fudge.”

Max tilts his head. “But fudge is hot, Clint, not cold!”

Phil’s eyes dance with amusement.

“Guess my brain is already freezing, then. Better warm it up again.” Clint turns toward the house.

Eric hovers just inside the hallway. “Hey, Mom said I should help you carry your stuff up to the attic.”

“We’re fine, but thank you,” Phil says. He pulls Eric close despite his loud protest. “It’s nice to see you.”

“You just saw me like three months ago.” 

“Still.”

Eric gives Clint a wave. “Hey.”

Clint waves back. Eric is working hard to perfect his sullen teenager persona, and Clint isn’t quite sure how to deal with that. Phil mostly ignores it, but Clint feels he hasn’t known Eric long enough to blithely do the same. “Someone mentioned hot drinks?”

Eric gestures toward the kitchen. “Yeah, there’s eggnog. Gross.”

“It’s not gross,” Max counters.

“It is the grossest.”

Phil gently pushes everyone down the hall. “Knowing your mom, there’s more than eggnog. Why don’t we find out.” He glances over his shoulder and mouths _Kids_ at Clint. Phil’s smile betrays all sense of annoyance.

Clint smiles back, ready to brave the fray of the family kitchen.

***

The hectic arrival mellows into an afternoon of gaming (for Max and Eric) and reading (everyone else). Clint reads about three pages of _Of A Feather_ before deciding that leaning into Phil’s side and watching the boys play is a much better way to spend his time. Every once in a while, Phil turns his head to nose along Clint’s temple, and it’s the most relaxed Clint has felt all December. 

“You bought orange juice, right?” Jen asks, turning to Mark.

“Um. I’m not sure.” He stands to walk over into the kitchen. The fridge door opens and closes. When he comes back, he looks chagrined. “No OJ. Sorry. I remember standing in front of it and I saw the eggnog on sale and then forgot.”

“That’s ok, we still have a little left.”

Eric hits pause on the game. “I had that after practice. Wasn’t even a full glass.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” Jen asks.

Eric huffs. “I checked the list. It was on the list. And I put the carton in the recycling.”

Jen sighs. “Fair enough.”

“I really want OJ for breakfast, mom.” Max looks back and forth between his parents.

Jen sets her book aside. “Well, I guess we’re going to the store.”

Mark holds up his hand. “I can go—“

“You already went this morning. It’s fine.” She stands. “C’mon boys, you could do with some exercise. We can walk since we’re not getting much.”

“I had two hours of practice this morning,” Eric retorts. “I’m not going.”

“I’ll go with you,” Max says. “Can Clint come, too?” A pair of hopeful eyes turns to Clint.

The thought of going outside in the cold again doesn’t hold much appeal, but there’s no way he can say no to Max.

Before he has a chance to answer, Jen says, “Clint had a long day of travelling. I’m sure he’d rather stay here with Uncle Phil.”

“No, it’s fine, I don’t mind.” 

Max beams at him. “I’m getting my jacket!” He runs off.

“You really don’t have to,” Jen says.

“I’m happy to.” Clint means it. He’s wanted to spend time one-on-one with Max, and this way Jen can quickly make it through the store.

As he slips on layers to ward off the cold, he overhears requests for more things. By the time they leave, Jen has a new list in her hand.

The temperature has dropped since Clint arrived, and the sun is about to set, leaving the sky a pale blue and pink. They walk the few blocks to what Clint calls the Bermuda Triangle of stores—Whole Foods, Jewel-Osco, and Trader Joe’s sprawl along Chicago Avenue close to one another, each with its own parking lot. It looks like suburbia to him, but Jen would probably laugh at him for calling Evanston suburbia.

“Let’s leave Whole Foods for last. I’m not carrying that IPA through two other stores.” Jen turns toward Trader Joe’s.

Even the day before Christmas, the store is much less packed than its Manhattan counterpart. Jen takes off with a purpose while Clint ambles through the aisles with Max.

They are picking out oranges when an elderly woman leans close to Max and says, “Well, isn’t that the prettiest skirt for a little princess!”

“Thank you!” Max does a little twirl, much to the delight of the woman.

“You have a beautiful daughter,” the woman says to Clint.

Clint ponders his response for a moment, but then decides on the most straightforward answer. “He’s my boyfriend’s nephew, but yeah, he’s a great kid.”

“Ah, well, that’s—that’s different,” the woman says, looking back and forth between Clint and Max.

Clint has no intention of saying anything else, so he stares back at the woman until she leaves. 

Max picks up another orange. “How about this one?”

“Looks good.” Clint places it in the basket. He follows Max around the store, forcing himself to be cheerful, but his mind is elsewhere. How often has this happened to Max? Have Jen or Mark talked to him about this? How does he feel about people identifying him as a girl? Does he mind?

They meet up with Jen at the check-out line, and Clint thinks—hopes—she doesn’t notice his absent-mindedness. He might bring this up with her later, but he also doesn’t want to overstep, especially since Max seems to have shrugged off the entire incident.

Once they get home, Phil picks up on the change in Clint’s mood. He tugs Clint into the hallway while everyone else is busy putting away the groceries. He keeps a hand on Clint’s hip, and there’s a crease of worry between Phil’s brows.

“It’s nothing, really,” Clint starts.

Phil’s look suggests he doesn’t buy that.

“A woman thought Max was my daughter. The skirt, I guess. I told her that he was my boyfriend’s nephew, and that was that.”

“Was it?” It’s gently probing, with a lot of affection behind it. That tone always undoes Clint; it shows just how much Phil cares about Clint sharing whatever is bothering him so he doesn’t have to deal with it alone.

Clint slumps against the wall. “For Max, yes. I think so. But…”

“But you worry about him.”

“Yeah.” They’ve had this conversation before. About Clint’s protective instincts when it comes to Max. They have heard stories during their Skype calls about Max having a hard time at school, but Clint’s never witnessed anyone being taken aback by the way Max dresses. It hurt to see that when Max is such a kind, generous kid.

Phil looks at Clint, waiting to see if he wants to say more. Clint looks away. He’s not in the mood to get into this now. Phil doesn’t press. He pulls Clint into a hug, and Clint is grateful for the familiar feeling of Phil’s arms around him.

He closes his eyes and breathes Phil in. 

Phil holds him until Clint pulls away. He takes Clint’s hand. “I believe we’re getting ready for movie night. _Home Alone_. It’s a tradition.”

Clint appreciates Phil’s effort to ground him in something mundane like family movie night. It helps even if Clint mostly knows the practice from movie marathons with Phil or Nat, not from his childhood. “I haven’t seen that movie in forever.”

Phil smiles. “Well, then it’s about time we refreshed your memory.”

Clint and Phil end up on the love seat. As the movie progresses, Clint tucks himself against Phil’s side, and Max climbs up onto the couch next to Clint. By the end of the movie, Max has migrated into Clint’s lap and is fast asleep against his chest. 

As the credits roll, Clint isn’t sure what to do. He’s barely dared to breathe since he noticed Max fell asleep. It’s probably dumb, but he doesn’t want to wake Max. He should be used to Max’s easy affection after two years of being in his life, but it still throws him.

Jen rescues him. “If you feel up to carrying him up the stairs, he probably won’t even wake up.”

Clint finds that improbable, but he trusts Jen’s judgment. He’s also glad they paused the movie half-way though for the kids to brush their teeth and put on pajamas. Phil gives Clint a boost to get off the couch, and Clint makes sure he has a secure grip on Max before heading up the stairs.

Jen pulls back the comforter and Clint slides Max into bed. Jen tucks the blankets around him.

Max’s eyes open just as Clint is about to leave. “Are you going away?”

Clint kneels next to the bed. “Not a chance.” He strokes Max’s hair until he falls asleep again.

***

Clint never sleeps well in unfamiliar surroundings, so he wakes up at the first turn of the knob to the attic’s door. It’s still dark outside, which hopefully means it’s too early for gifts. It better be. Clint’s eyelids feel like lead. No way he’s getting out of bed already.

Max’s head appears in the open door. “Can I come in?”

Clint rubs his eyes. He can feel Phil behind him, face pressed into Clint’s shoulder, still asleep. Clint nods.

Max runs across the floor, hitting every creaky beam. His _Frozen_ nightgown flutters around his legs. “I woke up and it was really dark and I was wondering if Santa was already here but I didn’t want to check and I wanted to see you.”

Clint blinks at the rush of words. “Okay.” Phil stirs behind him. Clint feels rather than hears his sigh at being woken up in the middle of the night. “That was a good idea. Not to go downstairs. Because of Santa.”

Max smiles at him. “I hope he found the milk and cookies.”

Clint wonders if he was ever that innocent. Probably not. “I’m sure he did.”

Phil looks over Clint’s shoulder. “Hey, Max. What are you doing out of bed?”

“Hi, Uncle Phil. Sorry to wake you up,” Max mumbles.

“It’s alright. Did you have a bad dream?”

Max shrugs. “Can I stay here? With you?”

Clint looks back at Phil. This decision is out of his league. Are there rules about kids sneaking out of bed at night? Clint isn’t sure.

“Just this once,” Phil says. He makes room for Max between him and Clint.

Clint is rather glad that Phil insisted on actual pajamas while at Jen’s. Clint’s usual briefs-and-nothing-else sleeping attire probably would have been unsuitable in this situation.

Max climbs under the covers, turning toward Clint. “This is awesome. Like a sleep-over.”

“With an emphasis on sleeping so Santa can bring all your gifts,” Phil says.

“I’ll sleep extra-hard.” Max stretches out his hand. “Rainbow.” He traces over the Pride flag on Clint’s favorite T-shirt.

“I like rainbows,” Clint says. He wonders if Max knows what that rainbow means.

“Me too. They’re pretty.” Max wiggles closer until he fits into the crook of Clint’s arm. He closes his eyes. “Maybe Santa was already here…” He drifts off easily.

Clint looks down at the child sleeping in his arms, more or less. It seems like a lot of responsibility all of a sudden. Maybe too much.

“Breathe,” Phil calls out softly.

“Easier said than done.”

Phil finds Clint’s hand and squeezes it. “You’re doing just fine.”

“I hope you don’t mind that Max is staying,” Clint says. “He showed up at the door and I couldn’t send him away.”

“I would have done the same thing.” Phil reaches behind him to pick up his phone. “I’ll text Jen to make sure she knows where Max is.”

“Oh, right, yeah, good idea.” Watching Phil on his phone helps to settle Clint. “Don’t look at your email. Or the news.” 

Phil gives him a look, but sets the phone aside. He draws the comforter around Max’s shoulder, leaving his hand on Max’s side. Clint folds his hand over it.

Phil’s smile is the last thing Clint sees as he falls asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Clint is between sleeping and waking when fingers brush through hair, trace his cheek, and slide over his neck and shoulder.

“Hey,” a soft voice calls out.

Cold air rushes in as someone lifts the comforter. Clint is gathered close by strong hands, pulled into the curve of a warm body. A hand rubs his back. This is familiar. Safe. _Phil._

“Merry Christmas,” Phil murmurs.

“Hmm.” Clint isn’t quite awake yet.

Phil laughs. “It’s almost time for gifts.”

Clint grumps and slings an arm and leg around Phil. He wants to stay here forever, under the down comforter that feels like a cloud. “How long?”

“We have twenty minutes. Jen instituted a ‘no gifts before eight am’ rule this year.”

Clint rubs his cheek against Phil’s chest. Instead of the soft cotton of the T-shirts Phil wears to bed, he feels flannel and flaps of fabric. “What’re you wearing?” 

“The pajamas that Santa left in front of our door.”

“You already got up?”

“Max woke up and insisted that he should wake his parents to make sure Santa had arrived. Who was I to stand in his way?”

Clint snorts. He has hazy memories of being jostled a little while ago, but clearly Max getting out of bed wasn’t enough to wake him up fully. Clint blinks open his eyes. He sees dancing penguins on a blue background. “Uhh.”

“Everyone gets new pajamas in time for Christmas morning. There’s a pair for you, too.”

“Please tell me they don’t match yours.”

“Well….”

Clint groans. “No, that’s too much. I can’t.”

“It’s a sweet gesture.”

“Okay. But only because it’s Christmas.” Clint pushes away far enough so he can actually see Phil’s face. His smile crinkles the corners of his eyes, there’s stubble, and his hair sticks up against the pillow. It’s one of Clint’s favorite looks on Phil—sleepy and unguarded, often promising cuddles and some lazy morning sex. Though the sex is probably not on the menu today. But kisses are always okay. 

One kiss turns into two and three and then Clint loses count. He rolls his hips and Phil’s hand presses into the small of Clint’s back. They both know this won’t go anywhere, but it still feels good to let a little heat build between them. Clint’s dick is just hard enough to make the friction from pushing it against Phil into a pleasurable tease.

Too soon, Phil says, “We need to stop.” He presses another kiss to Clint’s lips. “Now.” And another.

“Doesn’t feel like stopping.”

“Last one.” 

Clint expects a quick peck, but that kiss makes his body tingle all the way down to his toes. “One to remember.”

“Always,” Phil says, a flush on his cheeks.

**

There’s a large pile of gifts under the tree. It might be even larger than three years ago. It makes Clint glad that he and Phil agreed to hold off on exchanging gifts until they’re back in New York and can celebrate with Natasha. Clint likes his Christmas on a smaller scale even if he’s also happy for Max and Eric. This is the kind of Christmas Clint dreamed of when he was little: a cozy house, beautiful tree, and many gifts.

Today, he’s happy to sit next to Phil and watch the kids dig into their gifts. Max and Eric are excited about the World Series Champions Cubs hoodies that “Santa” left for them on Phil and Clint’s behalf, much to Clint’s relief. Jen had assured them that the boys kept on asking for these hoodies, but not being much into sports, Clint remained uncertain about them. Seeing Max immediately pull his on makes Clint smile.

Clint is nearly done with his cup of coffee when Max drags the last elaborately wrapped box closer. He tears through bows and paper to reveal a pair of light blue winter boots decorated with swirls of sequins and a row of little bows going up the back. He touches them with great reverence.

“I only saw these last week! How did Santa know about them? They weren’t on my list.” Max looks his parents.

“Well, Santa always pays attention,” Mark responds. Jen nods.

“Santa is the best!” Max pulls the boots into his lap for a closer look.

“Ugh, those are so ugly,” Eric says, a scowl on his face. “Why can’t you be like a real boy?”

“I am a real boy!” 

Eric snorts. “Yeah, right. I don’t know why Mom and Dad give all this dumb girly shit to you.” He pauses. “Oh wait, I do. They probably wish they’d had a daughter and not…you.”

For a moment, no one moves.

Clint feels like he’s been punched. His chest hurts. Phil tenses; his fingers dig into the couch cushion.

Max stares at his brother, boots clutched to his chest.

Jen speaks first. “Eric, you will apologize to all of us right now.” The steel in her voice makes Clint hunch in on himself.

Eric stumbles to his feet. “The hell I won’t!” He storms out of the room.

“Eric!” Mark rushes after him. Two sets of feet stomp up the stairs, then a door slams. Muffled angry voices come from upstairs.

Phil stands, but then seems uncertain what to do.

“Mom?” Max’s voice wobbles.

Jen kneels next to Max, pulling him into her arms. “It’s okay, baby.”

When Max starts to cry, Clint can’t be there anymore. He mumbles a quick sorry and flees. He takes the stairs two steps at a time all the way to the attic. He rounds the bed and squeezes himself into the corner between the bed and the wall.

He tries to squash the panic rising in him. The feeling that he’s done something wrong, that this is somehow his fault. He knows it’s not; it’s not about him.

Except that he’s been in Max’s place, has had insults thrown at him for not being normal, for not keeping his head down, for not just falling in line. He remembers how deeply those words cut, and for how long this pain lingers. And he’s never even heard them from someone as close as a brother. He presses a hand to his chest, trying to ease the ache there.

He wants to go to Phil so he can make it hurt less. But Clint doesn’t want to intrude. That’s family stuff, and it’s not his place. 

Clint pulls out his phone. His fingers hover over Nat’s name. It’s a shitty thing to do, calling her on Christmas because he’s upset. But they promised to talk to each other today anyway, and if the situation were reversed, Clint would want Nat to call him, no matter what day it was. 

Clint hits the call button.

“Hey!” Nat sounds happy and relaxed.

Clint tries to match her tone. “Hey.” And fails miserably.

“What happened?”

Clint hesitates. It doesn’t feel right to share all the details. “Family fight.”

“Did it involve Max?”

God, she knows him too well. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.” She means it, and that helps.

“It was bad. I—I didn’t stick around.” As he says that, he realizes that that was a dumb move. He didn’t even consider what that must have looked like to Max. “Fuck.”

“Clint.” Nat’s voice is soft and understanding. “You had every right to take yourself out of a situation that causes you pain.”

She’s right. Clint knows that. And yet. “Yeah.” He sighs. “What should I do now? It’s not—It’s not my place to—”

“But it is.”

“They’re not my family.”

Nat lets out an impatient noise. Yeah, it’s not the first time they’re having this conversation. “Is Phil not your family?”

“That’s not fair.”

“Well?”

Clint closes his eyes. “Yeah, he is.” Phil is his everything.

“And Max?”

Clint hums in agreement.

“Well, there you go.”

Clint swallows. Nat always has a way to put things into perspective. But he can’t face whatever is happening downstairs. Not yet. “Tell me about your trip.”

“Oh, you mean the perfect sunshine, the endless beach, and the limitless supply of alcohol?” Happiness shines through her words.

Clint smiles. “Yes, that. Tell me more.”

Nat does. She tells him about the resort on the beach where Maria got them a room with their own small pool, the amazing sunsets, and how hot Maria looks in that new bikini. 

Clint heart feels lighter the more Nat talks, her joy wrapping around him. When they’ve come to a natural pause in their conversation, he says, “I should let you go.”

“I’ll stay on the line as long as you need me to.”

And this is why Clint adores her. “I know, but I’m…” He almost says ‘good’, but that wouldn’t be true. “Better. Thank you.”

“Never forget that I love you.”

It’s so good to hear these words, especially today. “Me too. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas to you as well. Go hug Phil.”

“I will.”

They say their good-byes. Clint sits for a while, looking up at the beams in the ceiling. 

**  
When he finally comes downstairs, only Phil is left in the living room. There are tense lines around his eyes and mouth. Clanking noises come from the kitchen.

“Where is everyone?”

“Mark’s talking with Eric upstairs. Max went with Jen when she decided to get breakfast ready.”

Right, breakfast. Clint forgot about that amid all the turmoil. He sits next to Phil and tucks himself against his side. Phil turns toward Clint and wraps an arm around him.

Clint exhales. He thinks about their shared moment in bed earlier and reaches for that feeling of safety. It doesn’t quite work, but at least he doesn’t want to run anymore.

“Everything okay?” Phil asks.

“Could ask you the same thing.”

Phil scratches his fingers across Clint’s nape. “Not how I imagined Christmas morning.”

“No shit.”

Phi lets out a silent sigh. 

“How’s Max?” Clint asks. 

“He cried for a while, but then he rallied. He seems fine, but…I’m not sure he just bounces back from this. Jen did her best to reassure him.”

“And Eric?” Now that Clint’s hurt has mellowed, he can feel the anger bubbling up. He sure hopes that someone tells that kid exactly how much damage his words did.

“Mark’s talking to him. I’m sure there are consequences. The movie trip this afternoon is definitely off the table for him.”

That’s the very least Mark and Jen can do. “I hope that’s not all. They can’t let Eric go around spewing such hate.”

Phil keeps quiet for a few moments, then says, “I think Mark will make it very clear to Eric how harmful his words were.”

Clint sits up. “Excuse me if I don’t share that hope. Not when it’s about a poster boy for heterosexuality conveying to an equally straight boy how much damage they potentially did to a queer child.” Ah, fuck. He doesn’t want to fight with Phil. Or insult his family. But he also can’t let this go. There’s too much at stake.

“Mark’s not…” Phil pauses. He looks conflicted. “Mark dated a guy in college. For two years, so it wasn’t just fooling around. It was a serious relationship from what Jen told me.”

“Huh.” Clint never would have guessed that. He’s never read Mark as anything but completely straight. Straight to the point that Clint always finds it challenging to relate to him. “What happened?”

Phil shrugs. “They drifted apart. Ultimately had different goals. Then Mark met Jen a few years later.”

“So Mark’s bi?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure that he identifies that way. That was almost thirty years ago, after all.” Clint opens his mouth but Phil continues before he has a chance to say anything. “But no matter how he thinks of himself, I still think the experience helps him to relate to Max.”

“I hope so.” Clint lets his head fall back against the top of the couch. “Do you think Max knows?”

“Probably not.”

Clint swallows down the bitter comment of how it would make a huge fucking difference if Max knew his dad liked boys, too. Or did, at some point. God, straight people. 

Phil’s fingers nudge against Clint’s. It’s almost a reflex at this point to lace them together. Clint tilts his head to the side so he can look at Phil. He looks unsettled, but there’s fondness mixed in. Fondness for him, Clint knows. It helps. Clint knows Phil will always have his back, and loves him without question. 

Max appears in the door. “I’m supposed to ask you to please help set the table?”

“Of course,” Phil replies. He stands and tugs Clint up with him.

As Max turns, Clint calls out to him. “Hey, come here for a second, okay?”

Max walks over.

Clint kneels down and holds his arms open. “Can I get a hug?”

Max embraces him with a surprising amount of strength. Clint holds him close and rubs a hand down his back. It’s a long hug, and Clint lets Max decide when to end it. “Love you lots,” he whispers just as Max pulls back.

“Do you want a hug, too, Uncle Phil?”

“I’d love one.”

It’s a shorter hug, but no less caring. Max’s arms stretch around Phil’s back, and Phil strokes Max’s hair a few times. Clint’s throat tightens to the point that he has to look away. He doesn’t want to confuse Max even more or make him think Clint is sad.

Max lets go of Phil. “That was a good hug, right?”

“Very good. Let’s go help your mom. Did she make pancakes?”

Max leads the way out of the living room. “Yes, and there’s orange juice, too.”

 _Onward_ , Clint thinks and follows them.


	3. Chapter 3

Everyone tries very hard to pretend everything is normal for the rest of the day. It only makes Clint more tense. He wishes he could drag Phil upstairs and bundle both of them into blanket. But he doesn’t. He makes it through breakfast, post-breakfast clean-up, and a few rounds of board games. Then it’s finally time to head to the movies. The movie theater is a twenty-minute walk away, and Clint could use the exercise and fresh air to clear his head, but he doesn’t want to rock the boat. So he stands in the entranceway with Phil and waits until everyone is ready to get into the car. 

Max went to his room to change out of his pajamas. Jen’s about to head upstairs because they really need to leave when Max comes down the stairs. He’s in jeans and a checkered button-up, his hair pulled back from his face. 

It breaks Clint’s heart. He hears Phil’s sharp intake of breath and shuffles a little closer to him.

“Honey,” Jen starts, a scratch in her voice. “Don’t you want to wear your new dress?”

Max shakes his head.

“Are you sure?” she asks.

“It’s cold out,” Max says quietly. “This is better.”

Everyone files out after Max, but Clint is rooted to the spot. Phil walks back to him. “We don’t have to go. We can stay here and—“

Clint forcefully shakes his head. “Max has been talking about this for weeks. I’m not going to screw up another thing for him today.” Yet he doesn’t seem to be able to move.

Phil steps closer to him, close enough that his nose brushes against Clint’s cheek. There’s nothing more that Clint wants than to sink into Phil’s arms, but if he does that, the tears he’s been holding back the whole day will break lose, and he won’t have that. Not when they’re in full view of Phil’s family.

“I’m with you in this,” Phil murmurs.

“I know.” It means a lot to Clint.

Phil presses a few soft kisses to the spot where Clint’s scarf comes up to his jaw. “Ready?”

Clint nods and takes Phil’s hand.

**

It’s a relief to sit in a dark room for two hours. No need to pretend that everything’s fine. Phil holds his hand all the way through _Moana_ , and Clint is absurdly grateful for that. Max is on his other side, completely absorbed in the movie, laughing and cheering. It lifts Clint’s spirits.

**

They have a quiet, quick dinner at Mt. Everest, foregoing the elaborate dinner Jen had planned. No one is in the mood for a celebration, and the ingredients will keep until tomorrow. Clint eats mechanically, aware that his body needs the nourishment, but all he wants is for this day to be over.

When they get back to the house, Phil gets out of the car with a deliberate slowness that makes Clint hang back, too. 

“How about we just head upstairs and have a quiet evening?” Phil asks. “Just us.”

Gratitude washes over Clint. “Yes. Please.”

He lets Phil make excuses for them and says goodnight to Max before heading up to the attic. Phil calls out to Clint with a quick “Go ahead, I’ll be right there.” 

Clint closes the door behind him and revels in how quiet it is. The pipes clank and there’s wind brushing branches against the roof, but otherwise, there’s no noise. Clint strips down to his briefs and T-shirt before lying down. He pulls the soft fleece blanket up from the foot of the bed to wrap it tightly around himself.

Clint is dozing when the floorboards creak. Phil comes toward him, two steaming mugs in his hands. “Apple cider,” he explains as he holds out one.

Clint fucking loves that apple cider. Warmth spreads through him before he has even touched the mug. “Thank you.” He watches Phil move around the room, lowering the blinds, changing into sweat pants, and, curiously, locking the door.

“Got any plans?” Clint teases. He could go for that. He really really could.

Phil laughs. “Not exactly.” His expression suggests he might not be entirely opposed, though. He sits next to Clint and picks up his cider. “Just wanted to shut out the world for a while.”

That’s good, too. They lean into each other and Clint spreads the blanket over Phil’s legs. 

Phil pushes his nose into Clint’s hair. “I don’t know if I should ask you how you’re doing or if that would be a very bad question.”

It makes Clint smile. It’s so Phil. “I think I’m done having feelings for the day. You?”

“Same.” Phil sets his mug aside and pulls Clint closer. “What a weird Christmas.”

“Not the weirdest I’ve had.” An image flashes through his mind: Natasha racing down East 7th all the way to Tompkins Square to get back the bag some idiot tried to steal from her at Simone’s. 

“You have to tell me sometime.”

“Sure thing.” Clint tips the last bit of cider into his mouth and pushes the mug onto the night stand. He tugs at Phil until they’re both horizontal, arms and legs tangled comfortably.

Phil slips a hand under Clint’s T-shirt and traces patterns over his back. It helps Clint to let his mind go blank. The tension from the day slowly disappears and he settles more heavily against Phil.

When Phil’s thumb dips under the waistband of Clint’s briefs, drawing a tantalizing line back and forth across the top of Clint’s ass, Clint stills Phil’s hand. “Um, is this going anywhere, or…? Because if this doesn’t end with your hand on my dick, then maybe don’t continue.”

Phil sighs, but doesn’t say anything. 

Clint shifts so he can look at him. Phil looks conflicted. “No pressure, okay? You know my mouth runs away from me sometimes.”

Phil smiles. “It’s not that. It’s…a little weird. I mean, it’s my family’s house.”

Oh. Yeah. That makes sense. “I get that. The door’s locked, though, and everyone’s probably in the living room, right? That’s two floors away. And I can be quiet.”

Phil snorts into Clint’s shoulder.

“Okay, I can try to be quiet.”

“Uhuh.”

Clint ignores him. “Before we ponder anything further, did you bring anything? Because I didn’t, so…”

“I may have packed some supplies,” Phil mumbles into Clint’s T-shirt.

“That is such a turn-on, geez, Phil. Like a good little boy scout.” Clint slides his hand under Phil’s sweatshirt, gently raking his nails down his side. Phil shivers.

“W-was never a boy scout. And technically, what’s in my bag is left over from that weekend we spent upstate in October.”

“Hmm, whatever you say.” Clint nudges Phil until he can slide under him. It takes more nudging to convince Phil to let Clint feel his weight. “’s okay,” Clint assures him. Only then does Phil settle on top of him, too aware that Clint doesn’t like to be crowded in intimate situations. But tonight, Clint wants to be grounded, needs something solid against his back and on top of him.

They kiss. Light brushes of lips at first, then with more purpose until Phil drags his tongue across the roof of Clint’s mouth and Clint’s hips buck. As good as this feels, it’s not enough. “Will you fuck me?” He pitches his voice low. He needs Phil to understand that this is a genuine request, not the usual teasing invite that only confirms what they’ve already established through touch.

Phil pulls away and holds Clint’s gaze. His thumb sweeps across Clint’s cheek. “Yes.” It’s an answer that is as deliberate as Clint’s question.

Phil gets up and rummages through his bag. Clint strips off his clothes and watches Phil do the same. He’s surprised when Phil turns toward the bathroom instead of coming back to bed. He carries a big towel.

Clint laughs. “Boy. Scout.” 

“I don’t want to have to worry about things getting too messy.”

A jolt runs through Clint. “I hope that’s a promise.”

Phil ignores him, but there’s a flush across his cheeks. He drops the lube and condom next to Clint. “Lift up.”

Phil spreads the towel across the bed. He settles back down, half-draped over Clint’s side. When he clicks open the lube, Clint’s dick twitches in some sort of Pavlovian impulse. To distract himself, he asks, “So why does it matter less when we mess up the towel rather than the sheets?”

Phil frowns. “I…had not considered that. I was thinking I could throw it in the washer after we’re done and run it through a quick cycle. But I guess I could do that with the sheets, too—” As he talks, his rubs his fingers together until they’re slick. All Clint can think about is how fast he can get them inside of him.

“Never mind, let’s not talk about sheets and laundry.” He pulls Phil closer.

“You started it.”

“Less talking, more—ungh—”

Phil’s fingers slide between Clint’s cheeks. “This?” He doesn’t wait for Clint’s response before kissing him.

Fuck yes, Clint thinks, as Phil rubs across his hole. This would probably be enough prep, but Phil likes working Clint open.

“Two okay?” Phil asks between kisses.

Clint nods, and then Phil’s fingers slide into him, and it’s good, so good. Phil has magic hands. 

Phil’s lips move from Clint’s mouth to his neck, where he presses a sloppy kiss. Clint folds a hand over the back of Phil’s head, keeping him there, tucked close, so he can murmur encouragements into Phil’s ear.

Clint closes his eyes and settles into the familiar press and push of Phil’s fingers. Phil’s cock is a heavy line along the inside of Clint’s thigh. For a moment, Clint indulges in the fantasy of picking up the lube, roughly slicking Phil’s cock, and then guiding it inside of him, a hot slide of skin against skin. Clint presses his lips together to hold in the whimper rising in this throat. Sometimes he’s desperate with want for the one thing Phil hasn’t been willing to give to him. 

Clint pushes the thought away. Now’s not the time.

He runs his palm over Phil’s cock, pleased with the whine he draws from Phil. He thumbs over the head, already rather sticky. He keeps going, strong rhythmic swipes. 

“Stop,” Phil pleads, word followed by a harsh breath.

Clint lets his hand drop away immediately. “Sorry, got carried away.”

Phil withdraws his fingers. “It felt amazing. But I want this more.” He sits up to get the condom on. “You want to stay like this?”

Clint nods. He draws his knees up. 

They let out a shared breath as Phil pushes into Clint. That first slow drag is still something they cherish, no matter how often they’ve done this now. Clint runs a hand down Phil’s back as he settles into a rhythm. “Make me forget about all the shitty things that happened today.”

“Alright.”

Phil’s next push inside has more force behind it. Clint moves up into it, letting Phil know that this is exactly what he wants. 

For a while, it’s perfect. Phil fucks Clint with long rough strokes that make Clint press a hand against the headboard so he doesn’t get pushed right against it. Clint’s other hand is splayed in the middle of Phil’s back, keeping their bodies closely aligned. There’s just enough friction against Clint’s dick.

When Phil gasps and then stills, Clint freezes. 

“Twinge,” Phil manages between short breaths.

“Bad?” Clint doesn’t move. He wants to reach for Phil’s hip, but that can make it worse.

Phil exhales. “Better now.” But he doesn’t move. “Can we change positions? You could get into my lap…”

“Hands and knees?” 

Phil looks at Clint with surprise. It’s not something Clint suggests very often. “If you’re sure?”

“Yeah. Please.”

Phil searches Clint’s eyes. It’s a kind look, and Clint gets that Phil probably wants to know why this now, tonight, but he’s glad that Phil doesn’t ask. 

They rearrange themselves. Phil is exceedingly gentle at first. His hands hold Clint’s hips in a light grip, which gets firmer as they both feel more certain about this. Phil puts more power into his strokes. It’s an unfamiliar angle that Clint is unprepared for, and he tries to be quiet, but he’s lost all control over the noises he makes.

Phil doesn’t hold anything back and It doesn’t take long until Clint is on his elbows, cheek flat against the mattress. The heel of Phil’s hand presses down from the small of his back to his neck, and Clint’s back arches with it.

Phil curses and leans over him. Phil’s hand is light on Clint’s nape. “Can I—I want—“ He lets Clint feel a little more of his weight.

“Do it.” 

Phil’s front stretches along Clint’s back, and it feels warm and safe rather than crushing. Clint uncurls one of his hands from where they clutch at the towel. Phil’s hand is right there, covering Clint’s in a gentle grasp. Phil brushes a kiss over the top of Clint’s shoulder that is almost unbearably tender. Clint squeezes Phil’s fingers and bites his lip against the flood of feelings that rise up in him.

Clint knows that Phil is into this, too—the quiet noises he lets out make that clear. But most of this is for Clint because he asked for this and Phil always tries to make sure Clint is taken care of, no matter if it’s making a detour after work to get Clint’s favorite cupcakes or fucking his brains out, the latter of which is happening right now.

Soon Phil’s thighs tremble. “Close. You?”

Clint’s been floating on a pleasurable plateau, but he nods anyway. 

Phil groans. His hips snap against Clint’s ass, the force of it making Clint’s knees slip farther apart. Phil bottoms out deeper still. A shudder runs through Clint’s entire body. All he can do is surrender to this.

Phil comes with a quiet gasp, his hips grinding helplessly against Clint. He holds himself still for long moments, breath breaking harshly against Clint’s neck.

Just as Clint is about to tell Phil that he needs to move, Phil straightens. He pulls out of Clint with great care. Clint flops over onto his back, slightly out of breath and more than aware that he hasn’t come yet. He watches Phil get rid of the condom.

Phil crawls back between Clint’s legs. His hands hook into the back of Clint’s knees, drawing them up and toward Clint’s chest. “Want me to make you come?”

“You better.”

Phil smiles. “Hold yourself open for me.” Clint takes a hold of his knees as Phil shuffles down his body. 

When Phil licks a stripe up Clint’s cock, Clint nearly loses the hold on his knees. Violent pleasure shoots through him, and he fears that this is it, Phil’s made him come with one touch of his tongue. But Phil knows Clint’s body well enough to pause before licking him again. His lips close over the head and Clint nearly stops breathing. He is so damn close. 

“Tell me when it gets too much,” Phil murmurs. He mouths at the base of Clint’s dick and over his balls. He waits again as Clint pants for breath. Phil’s hand gentles over Clint’s stomach before resting there. “Okay?”

Clint can only whine in response. It’s not okay, it’s perfect, it’s not enough, it’s everything.

When Phil’s tongue touches against Clint’s hole, Clint nearly kicks him in head, that’s how hard a tremor lashes through him. “Fuck, sorry.”

Phil only looks up at him with a smirk, the bastard. Then he leans back down. Phil’s tongue feels amazing, warm and soft and soothing. It brings Clint back down again, lets pants become breaths once more. Phil doesn’t go down on him like this too often, and Clint wonders if it’s in return for what Clint let him do earlier. 

Phil’s tongue briefly dips into Clint. Everything in Clint draws tighter again. “Do that again.”

Phil obliges. His tongue strays deeper this time, and his hand closes loosely around Clint’s cock. 

“Don’t stop, don’t—” Clint loses his words again after that. Phil’s grip becomes tighter and his tongue picks up a rhythm. Clint can’t help letting go of one knee so he can run his hand over Phil’s head in encouragement. 

Clint’s orgasm rolls through him as he rocks down on Phil’s tongue, wanting more and deeper, all of which Phil provides until Clint is completely wrung out.

Once Clint has control over his limbs again, he pulls Phil into his arms and holds him tight. Clint’s never going to be able to put into words how fucking amazing this whole experience was for him, so this will have to do. He lets go when Phil wriggles away from him.

Phil reaches for the fleece blanket and draws it over both of them. “I was getting cold.”

The warmth from Phil’s body and the blanket makes Clint feel drowsy. He struggles to stay awake. 

“Go to sleep if you’re tired,” Phil mumbles. 

“’s too early.” It can’t be later than 9pm. If he falls asleep now, he’ll be awake again by 4am. 

“Fuck early,” Phil retorts, sounding sleepy as well.

The profanity makes Clint smile. No-filter Phil is his favorite. “Love you. Thanks for making my brain leak out of my ears.”

“That was intense, wasn’t it?” There’s an edge of concern in Phil’s words.

“Yeah, but in a good way. Thanks for not holding back.”

Phil is quiet for a moment. “Good. I’m—I’m glad it was what you needed. It was the same for me.” He kisses Clint’s jaw. “I love you, too, Clint. Always.”

**

When Clint wakes up, the room is dark aside from a soft glow coming from Phil’s side of the bed. The grit in his eyes tells Clint it’s far too early to be awake. He sighs. 

Phil’s hand lands on his shoulder with a light squeeze. 

“Wha’time’sit?” Clint can’t be bothered with proper diction.

“3:30.”

Clint rolls over, face bumping into Phil’s hip. He has no desire to move any further. Phil’s sitting up against the headboard, iPad in his lap. He flips the cover over it before Clint has a chance to see what he’s reading. 

“Hurting your eyes. Should’ve turned on the light.”

Phil’s hand rubs across Clint’s shoulder and up into his hair. “Didn’t want to wake you.”

“You been up long?” Considering that Phil put on pajamas, he could have been up for a while. 

“Maybe fifteen minutes.”

Phil’s hand keeps smoothing through Clint’s hair. It’s comforting, but Clint’s brain stubbornly becomes more alert instead of being lulled back to sleep. Clint sighs again. He feels sticky and gross and probably smells. He sits up. Phil’s hand slides down his back but doesn’t leave his skin.

“Im’a take a shower.” Might as well considering he’s apparently really awake. He switches on the bedside lamp as he rolls to his feet.

Phil gets out of bed as well. He gathers the towel into his arms. “I’ll take care of this. Should I bring back a snack?”

Clint’s stomach growls. He ducks his head. Figures. If he eats now, he won’t be going back to sleep for a while. Tomorrow’s gonna suck.

Phil comes around to him and leans in for a quick kiss to Clint’s cheek. “Leftover breakfast okay?”

Clint nods. “Thanks.” He watches as Phil expertly sidesteps every creaky floorboard and opens the door without making a sound. Clint would have woken the whole house if he tried to go downstairs.

The hot shower helps. It’s just on the side of slightly too hot and keeps his brain foggy. There are thoughts about Max and Eric trying to push their way into his consciousness. Clint cranks up the hot water more. He’s not going to face those thoughts now. It’s bad enough that he’s awake in the middle of the night.

When Clint steps out of the bathroom, he finds Phil sitting cross-legged on the bed, a tray in front of him. There are pancakes and bacon and two glasses of juice.

“I assumed you didn’t mind if the bacon was cold.”

Clint pulls on a fresh pair of briefs, but he decides that yesterday’s T-shirt is still good enough. “Nope.” He sits down across from Phil and stuffs two strips of bacon into his mouth. His stomach growls again; he’s hungrier than he thought. Perhaps not a surprise after that failure of a dinner.

Phil wraps the fleece blanket around Clint’s shoulder. “Don’t want you to catch your—catch a cold.”

Clint hums in acknowledgment and picks up a pancake. “You not hungry?”

“Not really.”

That makes Clint look up. He assumed Phil went on a snack run because he was hungry, too. “You okay?” There’s Phil just being Phil and doing nice things for Clint, and then there’s Phil in taking-care mode, which is often a sign that something else is going on.

Phil doesn’t meet his eyes. “It’s…It’s nothing, really.”

Clint touches his fingers to Phil’s wrist. “Hey.” Phil’s eyes flick up to him. “You don’t have to do that with me.”

Phil remains still for a moment, frown on his face. Then he reaches for his iPad. He puts the password in and hands it to Clint.

Clint wipes his fingers on the blanket before touching the screen. It’s the middle of some article, so Clint scrolls to the top to see what it’s about. 

_Singer George Michael Dies at 53_ is splashed across _Variety_. 

Clint stares at the headline in disbelief. His brain refuses to process the information, so Clint starts skimming the article. But the news doesn’t change. “Fuck.” It’s too much. He doesn’t have any space left in his brain, or in his heart, for this. It’s not even that he feels the loss so keenly. It’s Phil and what this means to him. “Fuck this year.” He looks up at Phil and there’s something so brittle in his expression that Clint drops the iPad, pushes the tray out of the way, and hauls Phil into his arms. “Shit, I’m so sorry.”

Phil burrows into the embrace, awkward as it is with their knees bumping into each other. Neither of them pulls away.

As much as Clint cherishes that Phil increasingly trusts him with more stories from his past, he wishes that so many of them weren’t so fucking sad. Like the one about how Phil and Dan used to go dancing when they first started dating. It was clearly a fond memory for Phil but all Clint could think about was how that story ended. Phil made a playlist of songs from that time and Wham! featured heavily. Clint added some of his own favorites from when he’d obsessively watch MTV just to see the Freedom video one more time.

“D’you have that playlist on here? Unless that’s too much right now.”

Phil moves out of the embrace and draws the iPad into his lap. “No, I think it’d be nice.”

_Last Christmas_ comes on first and Clint reaches over to hit the skip button. “Sorry, but I can’t listen to that one. Too depressing.”

“Agreed.”

_Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go_ is next. While it’s odd to hear a bouncy song in the dead of night, it’s a vast improvement over _Last Christmas_.

Clint stretches out on his back. Phil lies down next to him. Their fingers tangle together. 

When the first beats of _Father Figure_ come on, Phil sits up. “Dance with me?”

It takes Clint by surprise. They’ve never danced with each other before; at first Clint thought that Phil didn’t like to dance. After learning more about Phil’s past, he figured that dancing is linked to too many painful memories, so he’s never asked Phil to dance even though he loves it. “’Course, yeah.”

Phil pulls him off the bed and leads him to a corner of the room. “No creaky boards,” he says.

Clint suddenly isn’t sure what to do with his hands or his feet. How odd to find something they haven’t done together yet considering they’ve been together for three years. 

They shuffle close together. Phil’s hand slides into the small of Clint’s back and he winds an arm around Clint’s shoulders. Clint mimics him.

Phil has a decent sense of rhythm—another surprise—and sways them in a tight circle. Their bodies slot well together. If Clint hadn’t come a few hours ago, this would definitely be a turn-on. There’s a spark, but that’s all it is, and Clint enjoys this close connection to Phil, similar and yet different from earlier.

When the song swells into the first chorus, Phil drops his head to Clint’s shoulder and briefly twists his hand into Clint’s T-shirt. Clint isn’t sure if it’s the words, or the memories, or today, but his gut twists, too, and he’s so damn grateful all of a sudden to have Phil with him, here, dancing to a song they’ve both listened to many times. 

Clint moves his head until his cheek touches Phil’s and lets his eyes close. Something eases inside of him until there’s only the music and Phil. 

As they come close to the end of the song, Phil turns further into Clint’s hold. His lips touch Clint’s neck, then his jaw, barely there and gone. Clint chases after them, catches the corner of Phil’s mouth. He hovers there, hesitating because he isn’t sure what Phil wants. 

Phil lets out a choked-off sob and kisses Clint. Keeps kissing him as if they haven’t seen each other in months. It’s dizzying and yet Clint gives as good as he gets. He feels settled in their relationship, but sometimes he still has these moments in which he wonders if it all won’t fall apart. So he gets it—gets the desperate need to be close, to seek affirmation. He’s happy to give it.

The song fades out. _Till the end of time_.

It’s the last song on the playlist. Quiet settles over the room again, but neither of them moves. Phil’s chest expands with a long exhale. Clint hopes he feels a little lighter, too.

“I could probably sleep,” Phil says.

Sleep actually sounds possible. Clint’s mind is just fuzzy enough. “C’mon.” Clint tugs Phil over to the bed and climbs in next to him. Phil turns off the light and they lie down facing each other.

Phil draws in a breath, but doesn’t speak right away. “I know I’ve already—I’m sorry if this is too much, or…weird, but it seems important to say it again. I love you.” His voice wavers on those words.

It always gets to Clint when Phil says that, but especially now. He doesn’t trust his voice, so he presses his hand to Phil’s heart and hopes that’s enough. Phil covers Clint’s hand with his own, and Clint knows that Phil understood, as he does so often when words fail Clint.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, Clint wakes up alone. There’s a pang of longing, which Clint pushes away. Maybe he looked forward to some morning snuggles, but he’s a goddamn adult who is fine when he wakes up by himself.

Mostly, anyway.

He checks his phone; it’s 10am. No wonder Phil is already up. There’s also a text from Phil: _Come downstairs when you’re ready. There’s plenty of coffee_. It makes Clint smile. He sends a short text to Natasha before getting out of bed. She’s probably busy with walks on the beach or fancy umbrella drinks, but he wants her to know that he’s thinking of her. Then he texts Bruce, Steve, and Tony as well. He hopes they’re having less crisis-filled Christmases.

Clint pulls on jeans and Phil’s NYPD hoodie. He follows voices into the kitchen. Phil and Jen sit at the table by the window, remnants of breakfast scattered on the surface. 

“…and there’s a rumor going around that the Whole Foods might close,” Jen says. “Oh, morning, Clint.”

Phil’s eyes crinkle when he smiles at Clint. “You know where the coffee is.”

“Yup.” Clint fills a mug and helps himself to a bowl of cereal before he slides onto the bench next to Phil. He half-listens to the ongoing Whole Foods discussion between Phil and Jen, which mostly includes a lot of incredulity at their prices. Clint lost all perspective on grocery cost forever ago; Manhattan is so outrageously expensive that Whole Foods seems almost reasonable, but he keeps that thought to himself when talking to people who don’t live in the city.

Phil’s hand slips into the small of Clint’s back, under the hoodie. Clint swallows the sigh that wants to escape. It’s nice to have that connection, and Clint is glad that Phil doesn’t pull his hand away.

When there’s a lull in the conversation, Clint asks, “Where’s everyone else?”

Jen responds, “Mark’s out with Eric. We felt it would a good idea for Eric to be away from the house for a little while. To give Max some space here. Mark is taking Eric along to his favorite used bookstore. It’s very much not Eric’s favorite thing to do.”

“Isn’t he just going to be on his phone the whole time?” Clint asks.

“Oh, his phone stayed at home.” There’s a hard line to Jen’s mouth. “Eric needs some time away from that, too.”

Clint nods. Good. Especially if whatever brought on that outburst is related to whoever Eric hangs out with.

“How’s Max doing?” Phil asks.

“He seemed fine earlier. A little subdued, maybe. He’s upstairs, in his room.”

Clint wants to ask so many more questions. _Did anyone talk to Eric? Is he sorry for what he said? Did he apologize?_ But it’s not his place.

Jen seeks his eyes. “I was wondering if you might talk to Max? I want to make sure that he has a chance to talk about what happened yesterday and I don’t know if he’ll talk to me or Mark.” She twists her mug between her hands. “I tried, but he just tells me everything is okay. It’s the first time something like this has happened at home. We’ve tried to make sure that home would always feel safe, and now…”

Clint knows what it’s like to feel unsafe in a place that’s supposed to be your home.  
It’s a fundamental insecurity that took Clint years to overcome. He hopes that Max will never feel that way. “I’ll try my best. I was going to go say hi anyway.” While Clint hates what happened, he’s glad that it happened while he and Phil are around. 

Phil adds, “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to talk to Eric.” 

Jen is quick to nod. “Of course. I know Mark is going to bring it up while they’re at the bookstore, but another perspective can’t hurt.”

Clint once again wonders if Mark has ever or would ever share with his kids that he’s not entirely straight. It’s maybe uncharitable, but Clint isn’t convinced that a conversation with his apparently straight dad is the most productive one Eric could have. Phil is a much better choice, and he will find the right words, too. Clint is glad Jen didn’t ask him to talk to Eric; to be honest, Clint is still too angry to do that.

“I’ll talk to Max now, if that’s okay.” Clint gathers his dishes. 

“Please. He was reading the last time I checked on him. And leave those—“ Jen gestures at Clint’s mug and bowl, “on the counter. I need to load the dishwasher anyway.”

“Do you want me to come by in a little while to see how things are going?” Phil asks.

Clint wants to say yes, but he also doesn’t want anyone to interrupt. It may take a while to get Max to talk, if he wants to talk at all. “Nah, I’ll be fine.”

“Sounds good. Remember that I’m meeting Melinda downtown for lunch at one.” 

Clint is pretty sure that Phil only reminds him to signal that if Clint needs some support after talking to Max, it may have to wait until the afternoon. “Right, got it.” 

“Thanks, Clint.” Jen sounds relieved. 

Clint mumbles a _no problem_ as he leaves the room.

**

Max’s door is ajar, but Clint knocks anyway before glancing into the room. “Hey, kiddo.”

Max smiles at him, bright and happy. It makes Clint’s heart feel lighter. “Clint!”

Taking Max’s enthusiasm as invitation, Clint steps into the room and sits down on the floor next to him. There’s a familiar yellow book in Max’s lap, now battered with age. “Hey, I know this one.”

Max closes the book and sets it aside. “I’m too old for it. It’s for little kids.”

Clint never wants Max to feel too old for that book. “It’s a great story, though, right?”

Max nods.

“See, great stories are for anyone. Doesn’t matter how old you are.”

“Maybe.”

Silence settles between them. Clint realizes that he should have made a game plan for this conversation, but it’s too late now. He looks around Max’s room, trying to find something to talk about. Everything that’s scattered around the room points to a child who’s curious about many things—the expected dinosaur books, a map of the solar system, a few dolls, art supplies, comics, and posters featuring various Disney princesses. Clint’s eyes circle back to Max, who’s wearing the sequined boots that were the cause of yesterday’s turmoil. Clint takes that as a good sign.

“I bet those boots are really warm.”

“I was cold after breakfast, so I went to get them from under the tree.” Max turns his feet from side to side, sequins catching the sun coming in through the windows.

After breakfast. After Mark and Eric left for the bookstore. “They look great, too.”

“You think so?”

“Absolutely.”

Max ducks his head, but Clint can see his smile anyway. Maybe clothes are a good way to keep this conversation going. “D’you want to show me the dress that you were going to wear yesterday?”

Max glances at him. “You really want to see it?”

“I really do.”

“’kay.” Max opens his closet and takes out a deep blue dress, velvet on top, with short puffy sleeves, and a long tulle skirt. Of course it’s tulle because Max adores it. The top is embroidered with sparkling stones in the pattern of a constellation. At least Clint thinks it’s a constellation.

“That’s a really beautiful dress.” Clint sincerely means that.

Max’s eyes light up. “Grandma bought it for me when we had our early Christmas. Before she and Grandpa went on their cruise. We went to this store that had so many dresses! And I tried on a bunch, but this one was the best.”

Clint needs a moment to process what he just heard. He didn’t know what Phil’s parents thought of Max’s non-conformity, but it’s fucking amazing to find out that Julie took Max dress-shopping like that’s the most normal thing to do with your grandson. Which it should be, but people suck. 

“I bet it looks great on you, too,” Clint says.

Max shrugs.

Clint doesn’t want Max to doubt himself. For the millionth time in his life, he wishes he were better with words. “You know, it’s pretty warm inside the house. You could wear it to dinner tonight.”

Max puts the dress back into the closet. “I don’t know.”

Clint isn’t sure what to say in response. Doesn’t know if it would be the right thing to push Max on this, or leave it be, or offer encouragement. 

Max picks up a brush from the dresser and holds it out to Clint. “Can you get the tangles out of my hair?”

“Um. I can try.” 

Max’s hair only comes down to his shoulders, but considering that Clint has nearly no experience brushing someone’s hair, it still feels like a challenge. 

Max sits down in front of Clint. As Clint runs his fingers through Max’s hair to see where the tangles are and if they can come lose without involving the brush, he remembers the only other time in his life when he was called upon to sort out someone’s hair.

“Did you know that I was a cheerleader?” Clint starts.

“You were a cheerleader? Isn’t that just for girls?” 

“Not at my school. I guess it was kinda unusual. But the coach was ambitious about doing some acrobatic things, so she wanted some guys for the lifts.” Clint keeps to himself that he mostly joined the squad so he could ogle the football team during practice. “We had these bright purple uniforms with huge sleeves and sequins. And on game day, we always wore them to classes. It was the best.”

Max becomes very still. “Did anyone make fun of you?”

Clint picks up the brush. “A few of the guys did, yeah. But the girls on the team stood up for me.”

“There are some girls in my school who are always really nice to me, too.”

“Girls make pretty great friends, huh?” Clint thinks of Natasha.

Max nods with enthusiasm.

Clint continues to brush Max’s hair, gently loosening the last few tangles. “There, all done. Do you want to do something with it? Pig tails?” Clint can do those. A braid, maybe not.

“Okay.” Max gets a few elastics for Clint to work with.

It takes Clint two tries to part Max’s hair evenly and make sure the pig tails sit at the same height, but he does a pretty good job overall. Max seems happy with them.

“Clint?”

“Yeah?”

Max keeps silent, and it takes all of Clint’s patience not to prompt him into saying more. He waits while Max toys with the brush in his hands.

“Why did Eric say that to me yesterday?” There’s a painful amount of confusion in Max’s voice, and Clint has absolutely no answer for him.

“I don’t know.” Clint eases as much gentleness into those words as he can. He doesn’t want to make something up, even if that would comfort Max. 

Max’s head dips. “It was mean. What he said.”

“Yes, it was.” This is something Clint can say more about. “He shouldn’t have said that. Not to you or to anyone else. You know that, right?”

Max nods. 

So far, so good.

“Eric thinks I’m weird.”

Clint takes a deep breath before answering. “Has he told you that?”

“No, but I can tell.” There’s a hint of defiance, as if Max has shared this with someone before and been challenged about it. Clint sure as hell hopes it wasn’t either of his parents.

“I could always tell, too.” Clint isn’t sure if he should say more, but Max looks over his shoulder, clearly curious. “I was about your age, and there was a boy next door who I liked a lot. We used to play house together. Do kids still do that?” Max’s puzzled look tells him that they don’t. “Okay, well, he and I would get one of his sister’s dolls and then pretend we were a family and lived in a house together.”

“Oh, like the Sims!” Max interjects.

Clint laughs. “Yeah, except without a computer. Anyway, I could always tell that his mom didn’t like when we played that game even though she never said anything.”

“Why?”

The innocent curiosity reminds Clint that despite Max’s struggles, some things have gotten better compared to when Clint was younger. “Because back then people didn’t think it was a good idea for a family to have two dads.”

Max shuffles around to face Clint. “That’s dumb.”

“It is. I think people are a little smarter now.” 

“You know what’s dumb, too?” Max asks softly.

“What?”

“That there are boy clothes and girl clothes.”

“Yeah, that is really dumb. They’re just clothes, right?” Clint flashes back to the one time he wandered into the children’s section and the horror he felt at the rigid division between outfits for girls and boys.

“Yes, and the boy clothes are so boring and I don’t want to wear them. Some are okay. But the girl clothes are more fun.” Max huffs.

Clint’s never thought much about his clothes, but then he’s always been content with whatever jeans and T-shirts he could find in the men’s section. “You should wear whatever you like best.” Clint cringes as soon as the words are out of his mouth because they are so trite and also, easier said than done. 

“I know, but…” Max hunches his shoulders. 

All of Clint’s protective instincts surge. “Hey, look at me for a sec.” Max glances up. “You rock those skirts and dresses, okay? And fuck everyone who can’t see that.”

Max claps a hand over his mouth. “That’s a bad word!”

_Shit_. “Right. Yes. But sometimes, those are necessary. So fuck those people.”

Max smiles. 

“Come here.” Clint opens his arms and Max tumbles into them. “Don’t let anyone tell you that you’re weird. You’re just you. Nothing weird about that.”

“Okay.” Max squeezes Clint a little tighter.

A floorboard outside the door creaks. A moment later, Jen pushes the door open. “Sorry to interrupt.”

Clint lets go of Max, who moves away with some reluctance. “Nah, we’re good.”

Jen holds her phone out to Max. “It’s your friend Katie. She wanted to ask if you’d like to go ice-skating tomorrow.”

Max eagerly takes the phone. “Hi, Kat!”

Clint follows Jen out of the room, sounds of happy chatter accompanying them as they make their way downstairs. Clint takes a few deep breaths on the way.

The kitchen is empty. Clint really wanted to see Phil. To get a squeeze of his hand or a kind smile, at least. Something to hold on to.

“Phil got a text from Melinda about rescheduling for noon, so he had to leave earlier than planned.” Jen sounds apologetic.

Clint turns half-away from her, fighting his instinct to flee. “That’s alright.”

“Do you want more coffee? I can make us a fresh pot.”

He doesn’t really want to linger, but Jen must be curious about how his talk with Max went. “Sure.” 

It’ll be fine. Jen is really nice and has been nothing but kind to Clint. Yet he still feels odd talking to her without Phil being there as a buffer. He sits down at the kitchen table and pulls out his phone. There’s a text from Phil: _Had to leave earlier—I’m sorry. Tell me everything later, ok? Love you_. Clint can hear Phil’s voice in those words. It helps. He writes a quick response: _Have fun!!! Love u too_. Less than twenty seconds later, he gets a smiley face and a row of hearts. Clint bites his lip so he doesn’t beam down at his phone like the sap that he secretly is.

“Coffee should be ready in a minute,” Jen says as she slides two mugs onto the table. “Milk, right?”

“Yeah. I can—“ _get it myself_ , Clint thinks, but Jen is already across the room and opening the fridge. He remains seated and out of the way.

“So, how did it go?” Jen asks once they have their coffees.

“Pretty good, I think.” Clint knows he can’t leave it at that. “But this got to Max. He told me that he thinks Eric finds him weird. Has Eric ever said anything to Max before?”

Jen intently stirs her coffee. “Not that I’m aware.” She sighs. “The last few weeks have been stressful for all of us. There’s always so much going on right before the holidays, and it’s possible that Mark and I haven’t been paying as much attention as we should have. But Max seemed to be doing well and there haven’t been any incidents at school, which is a big improvement over the beginning of the school year, and…I don’t know. I keep going over everything I can remember, but there’s nothing that stands out. Just normal sibling squabbles. And Max and Eric are on such different schedules that they don’t even see each other a lot.” 

Clint shifts in his seat. “I think it’s more of a sense Max gets from Eric. Maybe there’s some avoidance there, too.”

“That’s entirely possible. I haven’t thought about it this way.” Jen looks up at Clint. “It’s been hard, you know? I read a lot online, forums and blogs and…I try to show Max that we all love him, but this is also really outside my experience.” The hope in her eyes suggests that she thinks Clint might have all the answers.

“Uhh, well, beats mine, too. I’ve always been just a normal guy—“ He stops himself. Natasha would have his balls for that kind of language. He hears her voice in his head, _There’s a reason why ‘norm’ is part of ‘normal.’ Normal isn’t right for everyone._ “I mean, I’ve always fit pretty well into the ‘stereotypical male’ box,” he does use air quotes for that, “aside from the whole fu—sleeping with guys part. And some questionable ‘90s fashion choices and too much glitter while clubbing. And there are a bunch of other boxes I definitely don’t fit into, but I’ve never really thought twice about the clothes I put on. Much to Phil’s occasional despair.” He shares a knowing smile with Jen. “But Max…he already gets all the gender bullshit that’s part of clothes and he doesn’t want to be a part of that. Which is pretty cool, if you think about it.” Clint stops himself from rambling on. “Sorry, I get carried away when I try to get my thoughts out.”

“No, no, that was really helpful. I wonder if I can sell Max’s clothing choices as rebellion to the other moms at yoga who always give me pitiful looks.”

“Oh, ugh. Straight people.” Clint realizes a second too late what he’s said. “Umm—”

Jen waves him off. “It’s fine. Though the yoga moms aren’t all straight. I know what you mean, though.” 

“I wish I could be more helpful, but family’s not really my thing. ‘m not sure how much Phil has told you about me.” Clint’s leg starts jiggling under the table.

“He’s told me that your parents died when you were very young and that you lived in foster care until you moved to New York.” Her voice is filled with kindness. It reminds Clint of Phil.

“That’s about it. It wasn’t great. Could’ve been worse, I suppose. But a gay kid in foster care in Iowa at that time…it wasn’t gonna get a lot better.”

“I’m sorry.” She means it.

“It’s—“ No, it’s not okay. It’ll never be okay. “It’s in the past.”

“You have a family now, Clint.”

Clint can’t keep looking at her. It still gets to him to hear those words. Phil’s said the same thing to him. It took a while for Clint to be able to believe them, to grasp that that’s who Phil and Nat are to him. “I do.” Jen probably didn’t think of them, and Clint appreciates the gesture of being included in the Coulson clan, but it will take him more time to be ready to believe that he’s part of that family, too.

** 

Max is kicking Clint’s ass at _Super Smash Bros._ when keys rattle in the door and Mark and Eric’s voices float down the hall. Max stops playing and scoots a little closer to Clint.

Mark steps into the living room. His smile seems forced. “Hey, guys. Is Jen in the kitchen?”

“I think so,” Clint says, keeping an eye on Eric, who is hovering in the hallway.

“Great.” Mark walks past where Clint and Max are sitting on the floor.

Eric calls out, “I’ll be in my room” before bolting upstairs.

Clint looks after Mark in disbelief. Is he not even going to check in with his kid? What the actual fuck?

As he’s finishing the thought, Mark’s steps slow. He turns around and leans down to Max. “Have you had a good day so far?”

Max shrugs. “Yeah.”

There’s a pinched look on Mark’s face. He casts a hopeful glance at Clint, who is not at all inclined to help Mark out with trying to talk to his own kid. “Well, I’m glad. I’m going to talk to Mom for a little while, okay?”

“Sure.”

“Okay.” Mark squeezes Max’s shoulder and heads to the kitchen.

Max sets down the controller. 

If Max feels anything like Clint, he doesn’t want to be here right now. “Hey, why don’t we go into the yard and see if we can find any birds? It’s warm out today and they’ll probably seek out the sunshine.”

Max looks at him with relief. “I’ve seen a pair of cardinals around, but maybe there are more. I’ll get my notebook.”

“Meet me at the front door. There are some holly bushes out there that sparrows love.” Clint also wants to avoid the backdoor in case Mark and Jen have an intense conversation in the kitchen.

Stepping outside immediately lifts Clint’s mood. The sun is out and it is downright balmy compared to the last few days. His fleece is more than enough.

They investigate the bushes in the front yard. Loud chirping suggests quite a few birds are hiding out there, but they are almost impossible to spot in the dense foliage, much to Max’s frustration. They walk around the house to the backyard and settle into the lawn furniture. It doesn’t take long for the cardinal pair to appear. Max scribbles in his notebook while Clint watches the birds hop from branch to branch. They are still among Clint’s favorites even though they are so common.

Other familiar winter birds stop by, including a house finch and a few juncos. Much to Clint’s delight, a common redpoll swoops down to the birdfeeder hanging off the porch roof. Clint usually isn’t a fan of birdfeeders, especially not in a suburban area that provides plenty of food for birds, but he can’t deny the excitement at seeing a fairly rare bird. He leans closer to Max. “See the little bird with the pink chest at the feeder?”

Max nods. “I’ve never seen that before.”

“They don’t often come this far south. It’s an arctic finch. You have to go pretty far north in Canada to see them where they live most of the year.”

Max’s eyes widen. “That’s so cool!”

Clint smiles. “Yup. They only eat seeds in the winter and depending on how many seeds trees produce, the redpolls will fly further south to find more seeds. They must love your mom’s birdfeeder.”

“We put that up together so that more birds would come to our yard.”

“Looks like the birds really like it. You can add the redpoll to your life list.”

Max flips to the back of his notebook and notes his latest sighting. The list has a decent number of entries already and seems to be in chronological order. That’s good enough for now, but in a year or two, Clint can introduce Max to the standardized version used by the American Ornithological Union.

Movement in the corner of his eye catches Clint’s attention. A bunny hops out onto the lawn, nosing under some leaves for grass.

“Max,” Clint whispers. “Look straight ahead.”

Max looks up and spots the bunny. “Oh, we have a lot of them.” He sounds unimpressed.

Clint doesn’t even see wild bunnies in Central Park that often. This one seems unfazed by their presence. “So you seem them all the time?”

“They are everywhere. There are babies, too.”

“Huh.” 

Leaves crunch under someone’s steps. The birds at the feeder whip their heads around, but don’t fly away. The bunny retreats under a bush.

Phil shrugs in apology as he carefully comes closer. “I tried to be quiet,” he says softly and squats next to Clint’s chair. “Hi.”

“Hi, Uncle Phil,” Max replies before turning back to the birds.

Clint’s heart stutters as if he hasn’t seen Phil in days, not hours. There’s color in Phil’s cheeks from the wind—he must have walked from the MTA—and his eyes look gorgeous in the afternoon light. “You’re back,” Clint says softly, half because of the birds and half because his throat feels tight.

Phil tugs on Clint’s fleece until they’re close enough for a quick kiss. Clint wants more than that, but not in front of the entire house and potentially the neighbors. Later. Phil’s hand lingers against Clint’s neck. “I’m going to have that talk with Eric now. I thought we could go for a walk after?” 

“That would be great.” The more time Clint can spend outside, the better. “We’ll keep busy here, so come get me.”

“Will do.”

Phil briefly checks in with Max, listening intently to a recap of all the birds they’ve seen so far. Seeing the two together gives Clint an idea. A potentially unfeasible idea, but one that he’ll run by Phil nevertheless.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems like this will be six chapters after all!
> 
> Also, I actually have pictures of various locations in this fic, but they're the wrong season! Fall and summer, to be exact. But if anyone would like to see them anyway, I'm happy to share them.

They walk down Hinman in comfortable silence, arms bumping occasionally. Clint once again marvels at how wide the sidewalks are, flanked by generous lawns on either side. The houses are all gorgeous Victorians in a variety of colors. Phil explained that his parents bought their house decades ago before prices soared to the million-plus you have to fork over for a house on this street today. And yet, growing up here speaks to a peace and comfort Clint never knew. He isn’t jealous or anything—if anything, he’s glad that Phil had a good childhood, and that his nephews get to have the same quiet upbringing now that Phil’s parents have relocated to a condo in the city, bored of suburban life after retiring.

Phil takes Clint’s hand. “Penny for your thoughts.”

“Just admiring all the houses, like always.”

Phil surveys the street. “They are impressive. I never saw that growing up.” He shakes his head. “I never quite realized how privileged we were until I moved away.”

“It’s all you knew.”

“That’s too easy of an excuse.”

Clint doesn’t want to get into this. It doesn’t matter to him that Phil grew up in much better circumstances than he did. “How was your lunch?”

They turn onto Hamilton to make their way to the lake. “It was good. There was some reminiscing, and that was…” Phil pauses. “Bittersweet. Mostly we talked about what’s happening in our lives. Melinda has some great stories about her work.”

“Is she still working for that private security firm?”

“She is, and you wouldn’t believe what people hire her for.”

The lake comes into view two blocks away. “I’m glad you got to catch up.”

“She really wants to meet you. You’ll have to come along next time.”

“Um, okay.” That sounds intimidating. But then again, Phil has met all of Clint’s friends, and Clint has come to like Jasper. “I mean, of course.”

Phil tilts his head and smiles. “It’ll be fine.”

They fall silent again until they reach the small park that leads right to the edge of the water. People are out walking dogs and kids. Clint wishes they were alone, but if you get upper 50s in December, people are going to take advantage. 

“This way.” Phil directs him toward a picnic area close to the shore. He sits on a table, feet on the bench, facing the water.

Clint sits next him, their sides tucked together. “Still blows my mind that this is just a lake.”

“Something else I didn’t fully appreciate when I was younger.”

Clint looks to his right where the downtown skyline rises in the distance. There are pockets of New York he takes for granted, but he still marvels at the view from the subway when they take the subway to Queens. That will never get old. 

“How’d your talk with Eric go?” Clint asks softly. He keeps his eyes on the horizon.

“I’m not really sure.” Phil sounds weary. “I tried to get him to see what happened from Max’s perspective, so that he could understand how much his words must have hurt Max. And I tried to get his side of the story.”

“And?” Clint tries not to fidget.

“He didn’t say much, but he did mention a few things once he realized I wasn’t there to give him another lecture or yell at him.”

“Must’ve been hard, the not-lecturing.” 

Phil scuffs his foot along the bench. “It took some self-discipline. As cathartic as that might have been, it probably wouldn’t have made any difference in terms of his behavior. In any case, he said that he didn’t understand why Max does the things he does and why he’s getting all this special treatment.”

Clint bristles. “But he’s not—”

Phil holds up his hand. “I know. But maybe to Eric it looks that way. And maybe…” he pauses. “Eric may be a teenager, but he’s also still a kid. Who also needs his parents’ support and attention.”

“So you think he’s jealous of Max because, what, the world is a shitty place for a little queer kid? And his parents who try to make it a little better by having his back?”

Probably anticipating the outburst threatening to erupt in Clint, Phil quickly responds, “I’m not sure jealous is the right word. It’s probably more a feeling of being neglected. And that in no way excuses what he’s said or how he has behaved. But it might open up a way to engage him. I could also be totally off. It seems worth it to mention it to Jen in any case.”

Phil sounds so thoughtful and kind while Clint feels another wave of anger sweep through him. He wants to tell Eric to suck it up and deal with not having his parents’ attention on him, but he also knows what it’s like when the people who are supposed to care for you don’t give a shit. Clint is sure that Mark and Jen’s temporarily distracted parenting of Eric comes nowhere near what Clint experienced. It may not feel that way to Eric, though. 

And despite understanding all of this, Clint still wants to banish Eric to some deep dark hole.

Phil’s hand gently closes over Clint’s fingers, which have curled up into a fist. Clint takes a deep breath and takes Phil’s hand. “Sorry. I think you’re right. It’s just really getting to me.”

“Me too.”

Clint looks at Phil, really looks at him, and sees the concern and frustration in his eyes. This must be hitting even closer to home for him considering that he’s known both Max and Eric since birth. Clint reaches out and swipes his thumb over the lines at the corner of Phil’s eye. Phil’s eyes close for a long moment.

“Let’s sit here for a while longer, okay?” Clint asks.

Phil nods and leans against Clint. 

The sun starts to set behind them, casting shadows of branches across the water. Clint watches as small waves lap against the boulders that mark the edge of the lake. He lets his anger ebb away, sends it across the water. This was supposed to be a break for them, after all, and this is a beautiful spot that he gets to share with Phil. 

“This hasn’t been the relaxing Christmas we were hoping for,” Phil mumbles.

“Understatement. But that’s alright. There’ve been some good moments.” Clint lowers his voice. “Like last night.”

Phil squirms a little. “Oh god, this reminds me that Jen gave me a look this morning and then she made a comment about late-night laundry. I’ll never live this down.”

“I have no regrets.”

Phil turns his head just enough to brush his lips across Clint’s neck. “Neither have I.”

When twilight settles over the park, Clint says, “How about we get coffee at that place near here?”

Phil straightens. “I could use some coffee.” He pulls his phone out of his coat pocket. “We still have an hour until dinner. Plenty of time.”

**

The red awnings of The Brothers K Coffeehouse are a welcome sight after their time outside. Now that the sun has set, the temperatures and wind are reverting back to their seasonal harshness.

The coffee shop is almost empty. Clint likes this place. It’s down to earth and well-loved by the neighborhood. Not a hipster in sight. There’s even a bookshelf with novels and kids books and games. He and Phil have also always managed to find a seat, even on the weekend after Thanksgiving.

They sit down at the bar lining the window. The sushi place across the street has Christmas lights strung along its windows that blink on and off.

“So, I have an idea,” Clint begins. “I don’t know if we can do this, or if it’s even a possibility…”

Phil turns toward him, elbow propped up on the bar. “What is it?”

“What if Max came to stay with us for a couple of weeks next summer?” Clint’s heart thumps in his chest.

Phil doesn’t answer right away, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face and he nods to himself. “Yeah, I think we could do that. If it’s okay with Jen and Mark and whatever plans they have. And if we can get some time off. I think we should—hmmph!”

Clint stops the flow of words with a kiss. “Thank you.” It doesn’t quite convey how much it means to Clint that Phil so readily agreed with his suggestion and immediately fell into planning mode. To Clint, this seemed a far-flung request, and who knows, maybe Jen and Mark aren’t comfortable with the idea, but Phil’s reaction suggests that they will and—Clint takes a breath and orders his brain to slow down. “I think this could be really good for Max. Just to be in a different world for a while.”

“We’d have to be in Queens for the whole time, but we could probably each take a week off, or we could find a summer camp for Max in the city.”

Clint nods. “I could even bring him to work for a day. And I’m sure Bruce wouldn’t mind having him around at the zoo for a day, either.” Clint can already see it: taking Max to all his favorite birding spots in Central Park, helping out with feeding some of the tamer zoo animals, and maybe he can even wheedle some sort of private tour of the Museum of Natural History out of Tony. Clint has no idea if Tony is on that board, but he should still be able to pull some strings.

When his eyes come back into focus, Phil regards him with a fond smile. “You were a million miles away.”

“Nah, just a couple thousand. Thinking about all the fun things we could do with Max. Do you think Jen and Mark will agree?”

“I want to say yes, but they might need to think about it. It’s probably daunting to let their nine year-old go off to New York, even if it’s not technically by himself.”

“Right.” Clint hopes that the fear of the unknown doesn’t weigh too heavily on them. Chicago is a big city, too, after all, and they take the kids downtown often enough. And they’ve been to the city twice in the last few years and seemed to have had a good time.

“We can bring it up after dinner. Speaking of which,” Phil glances at his phone. “We should go. The final phases of cooking big dinners can get a little frenzied for Jen, so it would be nice if we were there to help.”

**

As soon as they open the door, Jen calls out from the kitchen. “Is that you, Phil? Clint?”

“Yes,” they answer in unison.

After some precarious clanking and a “Mark, keep an eye on this, it needs two more minutes in the oven,” Jen appears in the hallway. “We decided to dress up a little for dinner if you want to go change.”

Clint didn’t bring anything aside from worn-in comfortable clothes. He unzips and hangs up his fleece.

“Are you sure you don’t need us to help with anything?” Phil asks as he shrugs out of his coat.

Already heading back toward the kitchen, she says, “I’m good.”

As Clint heads up to the attic, he wonders what exactly ‘dress up’ means in this family and just how out of place he will be. There aren’t any holes in these jeans, but it’s a close call. They are rather threadbare around the knees.

Phil strides toward his bag with purpose.

“Uh, I don’t—I don’t have anything to wear.” Clint can’t help but stare at his feet, a flush of shame creeping up his neck that’s been familiar since he was little.

“I took the liberty of packing your cashmere sweater and a matching shirt. Just in case.”

“You did?”

“I had vague plans of taking you out to a nice dinner. Here.”

Clint takes the clothes from Phil. He runs his hand across the soft fabric. Deep purple. The crisp cotton shirt is a shade darker. “Thank you.” It’s a relief to have something nice to wear, especially some of his favorites. Both were gifts from Phil. And it’s touching to know that Phil wanted to take him out, even if that wasn’t going to happen after their upended Christmas dinner plans.

They change quickly. Phil’s fancy outfit consists of the wool slacks that make his ass look amazing and the blue-grey sweater that brings out his eyes.

Just as they are about to head down, Phil reels Clint in for a quick kiss. “You clean up nicely, Mr. Barton.”

Clint smiles. “So do you, Detective Coulson.”

Phil sobers. “Dinner’s probably going to be a little awkward.”

Clint figured as much. “I hope Max will be okay.”

“We’ll make it okay for him.” Phil squeezes Clint’s hand. 

Clint likes that idea very much. Hopefully Eric is on board with it as well.

There are place cards indicating their seats, which Clint has never encountered at Jen’s house before, not even at Thanksgiving when they were fifteen for dinner. The seating order is rearranged: usually, Phil and Clint will face the kids across the table, with Jen and Mark at either end, but tonight, Phil is at one end of the table, with Clint on one side and Eric on the other. Clint has Max next to him, while Mark is next to Eric. Jen takes up the other end of the table.

The place cards work well with the more formal dinner, and Clint wonders if the possibility of using them was part of that decision. He’s happy that Max will be next to him. 

He and Phil hover next to their chairs until the rest of the family files into the dining area holding the last few dishes of food. 

“Max went upstairs to change,” Jen announces. “Please, sit. He won’t be long.”

They pass dishes around the table and Mark and Jen talk about the bookstore. Everything feels almost normal.

Clint is heaping potatoes onto this plate when Jen lets out a soft “Oh.” He turns and sees Max standing in the doorway. He’s in his new dress. The air vanishes from Clint’s lungs and he fumbles for Phil’s hand under the table. Phil’s fingers are right there, searching for Clint’s as well. 

“Come sit down,” Jen encourages. 

Max hurries toward his seat. Once seated, his eyes fix on his plate.

“You look so lovely, sweetheart,” Jen says and strokes Max’s arm.

“I’m glad I finally get to see you in this dress,” Mark says. “It’s very pretty.”

“It looks wonderful on you,” Phil adds. “Do the sparkly stones form a constellation?”

Max nods. “It’s Libra. For my birthday.”

Phil smiles. “It really suits you.”

Clint knows he has to say something as well, but his mind is completely blank. “Thank you for wearing your new dress. Thanks for sharing it with us.” He doesn’t know what else to say, but maybe this was enough. There’s a shy smile on Max’s face.

A moment of silence passes, then Eric clears his throat. “So, uh. I, uh, wanted to say…” He pauses. “I’m really sorry. For yesterday. It was dumb of me to say that.”

Clint’s hold on Phil’s hand is probably too tight, but it’s a lifeline and he can’t let go.

Max glances up at his brother. “Okay.” 

Eric continues. “I, um, I don’t always get why you do what you do, but I’ll try harder to get it. And you should—you should do what you want. Obviously. So, I’m sorry.” He looks at Jen. She meets his eyes and then looks at Max.

Max draws in a breath. “Apology accepted.” While that phrase come out with great hesitation, the next ones are purposeful. “And you don’t get to say that to me again. What you said yesterday. Ever.”

Clint is so proud that he could burst, and his eyes burn because he can’t even imagine how much strength it took for Max to say that. He can see Jen blink furiously and Mark presses a hand to his chest for a second. Phil nearly crushes his fingers.

“I promise,” Eric says. He sounds earnest.

Max holds Eric’s gaze for a long moment, then turns to Jen. “Can I have some beans?”

The tension lingering over the table dissipates as everyone starts moving again. Food gets passed to Max, dinner starts, and conversation picks up again. Max and Eric don’t exchange more words, but the meal is a much happier one than Clint expected. He isn’t convinced that Eric’s apology and promises undo the strain in the brothers’ relationship, but it’s a first step. 

By the end of dinner, Clint feels exhausted. The day was a rollercoaster of emotions and he didn’t exactly get a full night of sleep. He nearly trips over the carpet when he carries a stack of plates to the kitchen.

Phil pulls him aside. “If you want to head upstairs now, go ahead. I can talk to Jen and Mark about our idea for next summer.” 

It seems important for Clint to be there, but he’s also not sure he can deal with another potentially draining conversation. “You’re tired, too.”

“I am, but I’ll be fine. And I’d rather ask them in person than over email or Skype.”

“If you’re sure. You can always text me if you need backup.”

Phil turns him into the direction of the stairs. “I will, but I don’t think it’ll be necessary.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be adding a number of photos of Jen's neighborhood here soon!

Much like the previous evening, Clint is glad to be able to close the attic door behind him. He takes off his sweater and shirt, folds them, and sets them down on his bag. He finds a clean T-shirt to wear and flops on the bed.

He closes his eyes for a post-dinner doze, but his mind won’t let him rest. His thoughts are with Phil and their request. When he picks up his phone, he sees three new texts from Nat, all photos from her vacation. One is of a flock of birds flying over the beach, one is a selfie with Maria, and the final one features an impressive cockroach with the line “So glad we don’t have those at home.” Yeah, Clint is rather glad about that, too. He saves the first two photos to this phone and flips through his gallery.

He has a ridiculous number of falcon chick pics from the most recent breeding season. Each of them makes him smile, though, so maybe it’s exactly the right number of photos. There are also various shots from around the city, including a great one from the roof of the Met at sunset from last June when Phil wanted to recreate one of their first dates. Phil is another frequent subject, and the spur-of-the-moment ones are Clint’s favorites: Phil hunched over reports late at night; Phil cooking; Phil sprawled on the couch. Clint lingers over one from March: faint early morning light makes Phil’s face difficult to see, but his hair sticks up and he has one hand stretched out toward Clint. It’s something Clint has seen many times, but that doesn’t make it any less precious. He’s tempted to set it as his lock-screen just so he can see it more often, but he also doesn’t want to share this moment with anyone else.

He realizes that he’s made his way back to February and Phil isn’t back yet. It’s been almost an hour, which seems like a long time for a fairly straightforward conversation. 

Clint sits up before making a conscious decision. If they’re really still discussing Max’s summer visit, Phil definitely needs back-up. If they’re not, it won’t be awkward if Clint comes downstairs.

When he’s almost at the second floor, he hears Max’s voice: “…was his name?”

Mark replies, “Jason. We met in math class. I was pretty hopeless and he volunteered to help me. Then I realized that I really liked him.”

Clint tiptoes down another step. He wouldn’t normally try to overhear other people’s conversation, but he has a stake in this. 

“And he liked you, too?” Max asks.

“He did. We liked each other a lot.”

“But what about Mom?”

“Well…” Mark begins. “That was after Jason. Jason and I, we liked each other, and we were together for a while, but then things got difficult and—“

“Difficult how?”

Mark sighs. “Difficult like…dumb grown-up stuff. We split up and then I met Mom. And she was the one that I always wanted to be with.”

A few moments pass before Max asks, “So do you like both girls and boys?”

“I, umm…I guess so, yeah.”

While Clint is surprised by that admission, he also silently cheers Mark on.

“I just like boys, I think,” Max says, completely matter-of-fact. “Girls are cool, but boys…” what follows is a dreamy sigh that nearly makes Clint burst out laughing because he has let out that same sound while day-dreaming about boys, too. He’s probably made that noise while thinking about Phil. 

Mark laughs, and it’s a kind _I get it_ laugh.

Clint has heard everything he needs to, and he edges along the hallway to the next set of stairs. He clearly didn’t give Mark enough credit. 

Phil and Jen are talking on the couch, each with a glass of wine. The bottle on the coffee table is almost empty. They don’t notice Clint, and he wonders if he should leave them to their conversation. Phil doesn’t have that many opportunities to talk to his sister one-on-one.

Clint is about to turn away when Phil spots him. He holds out his hand, waving Clint closer. Once he’s in reach, Phil tugs Clint down behind him and leans against his chest. It makes Clint smile, which he half-hides in Phil’s neck. The wine clearly had an effect. Probably not to the point that Phil is tipsy, but he’s mellow and handsy. And a handsy Phil is always a good thing as far as Clint is concerned. He wraps an arm around Phil’s waist and pulls him closer. 

“You two are too precious,” Jen says warmly.

“Are not,” Phil responds. 

Jen’s eyes meet Clint’s and they share a moment of fond amusement.

“Do you want some wine, too?” Jen asks. “There’s also beer in the fridge.”

“Nah, I’m good, thanks.” He isn’t in the mood to drink.

“I hear you want to take Max for a few weeks next summer.”

“Uh, yes, I thought, I mean, we thought it would be good for him to—to—” be somewhere other than the straight-laced conformity of suburbia. Clint isn’t sure how to say that in a non-insulting way.

“To see new things?” Jen finishes. “Phil made a good case.”

Clint is glad for the rescue. “Yeah.” 

Phil adds, “Jen suggested that she could fly out with Max and then stay for the first night to get him settled.”

“Sure, that sounds great.” Having Jen there for a day would be good to make sure that Max feels comfortable.

“And then all of us can come to pick him up.”

It sounds like Mark and Jen readily agreed to the idea of Max’s visit. Clint appreciates their trust. “We’ll make sure that he has the best time. And that he’s safe, of course.” They’ll have to child-proof Phil’s place. For starters, all the sex toys need to go into a locked box at the back of the closet. Fortunately Phil already has a safe for storing his gun.

Jen smiles. “I don’t doubt that. We were thinking of July. Eric might qualify for a baseball camp, so if we coordinated that with Max’s trip, Mark and I might get the house to ourselves for two weeks.” She laughs. “We won’t even know what to do with ourselves!”

“I can think of a few things.” Clint realizes what he’s said and tries to backtrack. “I mean, there are literally so many things you can do, not just _that_.”

Jen laughs louder and Phil groans, making _please stop_ hand motions.

“No threat of kids bursting in. Now that’ll be a change for sure.”

“Let’s change the subject,” Phil pleads.

“What, like you and Clint didn’t have a really good time last night? Please.”

“She’s not wrong,” Clint says.

“I hate all of you,” Phil mutters.

Clint noses at his ear. “You love us.”

“Maybe,” Phil concedes.

“Definitely,” Jen states. “Do you mind if I took a picture of you two? The only ones I have are so formal.”

They nod. Jen holds up her phone and takes about five pictures. 

“Can you get one for me, too?” Clint doesn’t have many photos of the two of them together. 

Jen obliges. Clint likes the shot a lot; it captures a moment that he’s lived through many times: piling into a corner of the couch with Phil and letting the day fade away. Phil nods. “Text that to me?” he asks. Clint is more than happy to.

“Was Mark still talking to Max when you were coming downstairs?” Jen asks.

“Yeah? I mean, yeah.” Clint doesn’t want her to know that he lingered a little longer than he maybe should have.

“Good. After Eric’s outburst, Mark decided he needed to share his experience with Max to make sure that he feels safe with us. He’s been meaning to tell Max for a while, but it made him really nervous.” 

“We talked it through before he headed upstairs,” Phil adds. He turns a fraction so he can look at Clint. “Did it seem like it was going well?”

“I didn’t hear much, but yeah, Max sounded upbeat. Asking questions.”

“That’s a relief.” Jen pours herself more wine and holds the bottle out to Phil, who declines. “Remember when you came out to Mom and Dad? You were a wreck for a week before you finally told them. And they took it really well.”

Phil looks down. “Not at first. Should’ve seen the looks on their faces.”

Jen looks confused. “But I thought—”

“They came around quickly. But that first conversation…wasn’t easy.”

Clint takes Phil’s hand. Not for the first time he wonders exactly how much Phil’s family knows about Dan and Phil’s life in college. Phil and Jen are close, and always have been as far as Clint can tell, but Phil can also be guarded.

Jen gently twirls her glass. “You never mentioned that before.”

“As I said, it was only that first conversation. I guess they never suspected. I think it was more the surprise than anything else.”

“They have always completely supported you. Or so I thought.” She sounds uncertain.

“Yes. They have. Once they processed the news.”

Jen turns to Clint. “What about you? If you don’t mind me asking?”

Clint shrugs. “Never had that moment. The big coming out. People can always sort of tell, or I say something that makes it pretty obvious where my preferences lie. I’m not good at keeping that part of myself a secret.”

“And you shouldn’t need to,” Jen says, full of earnest conviction.

Clint smiles. “Agreed, but there were some moments when it would have been better for me if I’d known how to keep my mouth shut.”

“I’m glad those moments are over,” Phil says, soft and caring. 

“Me too.” He holds Phil’s gaze for a moment. 

Phil sets his glass on the coffee table. “I think we’re ready to head upstairs. Unless you need help with anything?”

Jen shakes her head. “Dishwasher’s doing its thing and leftovers are packed away. To be honest, I’m looking forward to losing myself in my new novel for a few hours.”

Clint and Phil stand. Phil stretches his arms over his head. If they were alone, Clint would dive to press a kiss to the sliver of skin along Phil’s hip; that burst of giggles is one of the best sounds Clint can coax out of Phil.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Max would probably appreciate your presence at breakfast, but I’ve also made it clear to him that you’re on vacation.”

“When do you usually have breakfast?” Clint asks. 

“Probably around eight.” Jen sounds apologetic.

“We might be up anyway,” Phil says. 

Clint isn’t so sure, but he would also like to have breakfast with Max. Maybe they can set an alarm.

They leave Jen to her book and slowly make their way up the stairs. Max’s open door comes into view.

“Let’s say goodnight,” Phil suggests.

Mark and Max are reading together, Max snuggled into his dad’s side. It’s not what Clint expected, but it makes him happy to see the two of them content and relaxed. He will also never get tired of the way Max smiles at him.

“Just popping in to wish you a good night,” Phil says.

“Goodnight! Can we do hugs?”

“Always,” Clint says.

Max climbs out from under the covers and kneels on his bed to lean into Clint’s embrace. “Did you know that Dad likes boys, too? And girls! And Mom the best.”

“I did know that.” Clint slowly lets go. He casts a glance at Mark, who doesn’t seem upset that Max freely shared the contents of their conversation. 

Phil gets a hug as well, and then Max draws the comforter around himself and Mark again. “You read the next part, okay?”

Mark nods at Phil and Clint before starting to read.

Back in the attic once more, Clint stretches out across the bed, face half-buried in the soft bedspread and one foot dangling over the edge. “’m not moving again.” Now that he’s engulfed in a fluffy comforter and alone with Phil, his fatigue becomes apparent. He closes his eyes.

“No one’s forcing you.” Clothes rustle as Phil changes into something more comfortable. “Actually, I will force you to brush your teeth. But aside from that, no need to move.” More shuffling around and straightening up happens before Phil joins Clint on the bed. His hand slides up Clint’s side to his neck. Gentle scratches along his hairline follow.

Clint expects Phil to move on to something else—pick up his book or iPad—but he doesn’t. His fingers keep moving, back and forth. Clint smiles. “Are you watching me?”

“Maybe.”

Clint cracks one eye open and finds Phil’s thoughtful gaze on him. He opens both eyes and keeps looking at Phil as he turns on his back. Phil’s hand moves with him, settling on his chest. “Something on your mind?”

Phil shakes his head, but Clint doesn’t buy it. That’s okay. Phil will share when he’s ready. He pulls the glasses off Phil’s face and sets them down a safe distance away. Then he gathers Phil against his chest and folds both his arms around him. Phil’s weight enhances the pleasant drowsiness Clint’s already feeling. His eyelids are heavy; if he’s not careful, he’ll be asleep in a few minutes. 

And that’s out of the question considering how last night went. Going to sleep early and waking up in the middle of the night isn’t something Clint wants to repeat. He forces his eyes to stay open and says the first thing that comes to his mind. “Mark’s not the dumb jock I thought he was.” Okay, that could have come out better.

“I didn’t realize that’s how you thought of him.” Phil shifts to prop up his head, elbow digging into the mattress next to Clint’s shoulder.

“I didn’t mean—” Clint pauses. He did mean that. “Let me explain. You know I got bullied in school.”

Phil’s gaze softens. “I do.”

“It was always guys like Mark—or what I thought Mark was—that came after me. You know, the super-straight popular guys that knew they could get away with harassing me.” That still makes Clint angry. “At least until they found out that I knew how to fight back.”

“What made you think Mark was that kind of guy? He’s always been nice to you.”

“I know.” Clint can’t really explain it. It was more of a feeling than anything. “You never thought that?”

“Not really. But you probably could have mistaken me for one of those straight guys who play sports when I was in high school.”

“Bet you never bullied anyone, though.”

“No.”

There’s something in Phil’s voice that suggests that there’s more of a story there about his high-school self, but Clint doesn’t want to drag up those memories. “Anyway, I was wrong. About Mark. I thought that he had no clue how to relate to Max. He always seemed a little distant. But he must have had a lot on his mind.”

“He was worried that coming out to Max would be disorienting, and he didn’t want to add more things for Max to deal with or worry about. He didn’t realize how much it would mean to Max.”

“Is that what you and Jen talked to him about?”

Phil smiles. “More or less. He made us listen to what he planned to say to Max.”

“I’m glad that their conversation went well. Mark must be relieved.” Above all, Clint is glad that Max knows. He thinks back on that sigh Max let out, and how incredible it is that he can share that with his dad. 

“I bet—” A yawn cuts Phil off. “I bet he is.”

“Too little sleep last night.”

“Still no regrets.” To underline that, Phil kisses Clint. It’s mostly sweet, but Clint pulls Phil fully against him and sneaks a hand under his shirt, so the kiss doesn’t stay as innocent as Phil probably intended.

“Why don’t you go brush your teeth so we can settle into bed for real?” Phil murmurs. “I’m wiped.”

From this close, Clint can see the shadows under Phil’s eyes. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

He gets up and heads to the bathroom, his mind pleasantly empty as he goes through his evening routine. He eyes the penguin pajamas that hang on a hook on the back of the door, but decides against them. He wants to be comfortable. T-shirt and briefs it is.

Phil is sitting up in bed and doesn’t say anything about the lack of pants. His glasses are back on his nose and he’s scrolling through his phone. 

“If anything terrible has happened in the world, I don’t want to know,” Clint says.

“I wouldn’t know. I was looking at the pics Jen texted. She added a few more family pics from the last few months.” Phil turns the screen: it’s Max out trick-or-treating in his Tinkerbell costume. 

Clint pulls the phone closer. Max looks happy; knowing that makes Clint’s heart fill to the brim. “I kinda want to print that out and frame it, but would that be weird? He isn’t our kid.”

“I…don’t think so,” Phil says. There’s something overly slow to his words, and that preoccupied look from earlier is back. “I want to ask you something, and I need you to be honest.”

Uh-oh. Here it comes. “Okay.”

“Do you want to have kids? Do you want us to have kids?”

Clint blinks. The question echoes in his mind. Kids? What? Is that something Phil wants? He never mentioned anything, and Clint assumed that they didn’t even need to have that conversation, that this was something they agreed on, but maybe he’d been wrong to assume that, and oh fuck. He’s tired and his guard is down and—

Clint has to twist his hand into the comforter because his flight instincts are kicking in hard.

Phil notices. Of course he does. He raises his hands and signals clearly that he’s about the grasp Clint’s shoulders. When Clint doesn’t move away, Phil’s palms cup his shoulders. “I’m sorry.” He pauses, and runs his hands over Clint’s upper arms. “I shouldn’t have sprung that on you like that. But seeing you with Max made me wonder.”

“What do you want?” Clint blurts out. Everything’s twisting inside of him. His ribs feel tight. He loves Max, but that doesn’t mean he wants kids of his own.

Phil takes impossibly long to answer. “I never pictured a future where I’d have children, but if that’s something you want, then—”

“No,” Clint cuts in. “I don’t.”

“I don’t either.”

Clint slumps forward, his hands coming up to cover his face. “Jesus fucking Christ, Phil. You can’t just—” He doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. 

Phil’s arms come around his shoulders and he drops a kiss to the top of Clint’s head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—to freak you out.”

Clint can’t answer. He feels shaky. Not because Phil sprung this question on him—although, fuck, no, let’s not do that again—but because for half a minute, a gulf opened up between him and Phil and for the first time in a long time, the stable future with Phil on which Clint has come to rely vanished. Because a disagreement about kids is one of those things that breaks relationships apart. It took forever for Clint to believe that he and Phil are a sure thing, until he let himself believe that. And now anything that threatens that belief scares the fuck out of him.

“I’m sorry,” Phil says again. “But I’m glad we’re on the same page.” He sounds rattled, too.

Clint returns his embrace. The last thing he wants is for Phil to think Clint is upset with him, especially if Phil thought they might disagree on something as fundamental to their future as this. “We’re good. But maybe a heads-up would have been nice. Like, hey, can we talk about something really important and possibly life-changing?”

Phil grimaces as he pulls back. He takes off his glasses and rubs a hand over his face. “The thought crossed my mind earlier today. What if I’m wrong and he wants kids? We never talked about it. Not this directly anyway. I didn’t want to let that doubt linger until it became a Thing.” He sighs. “I could have done a better job with bringing it up.”

“I’m glad you asked. Even if you almost gave me a heart attack. But I don’t want you to worry. Not about us. There’s enough bad shit in the world to worry about already.”

“Amen to that.” Phil slides his glasses onto the night stand.

Clint needs to make sure that Phil really gets this. “What I meant is, I know there are things we disagree on. And there are probably things we don’t even know yet that we disagree on. But I hope that we can always work that out.”

Phil looks at Clint in such a fragile yet hopeful way that Clint has to haul him close again. 

“I want that, too. Always find a way to work things out between us,” Phil whispers into Clint’s neck.

They stay like that for another minute. When they sit back, Clint sees his own feelings reflected in Phil’s face: shaken, but determined, and lots of love.

They tug pillows and the comforter into the most comfortable arrangement. Phil reaches for the iPad. “Do you want to watch something?”

Clint slumps against his side. “As long as it requires no brain power and isn’t sad.” 

“We can do that.”

** 

They make it to breakfast the next morning. They’re almost on time, too. Clint managed to coax Phil into showering together-- _it’s Christmas, you can’t say no!_ \--and that led to kissing and hand jobs and more kissing. They join breakfast at 8:20; Jen is reading the paper and Max is very focused on spreading jam on an English muffin.

As they sit down, Jen gives them a far too knowing look, but the only thing she says is, “Mark and Eric went running.”

“And Dad is telling Eric about Jason!” Max adds, sounding triumphant.

“Really?” Phil asks.

“He wants the whole family to know,” Jen says. 

Clint is once again impressed. Telling Max is one thing, but Eric, who may react in a hostile way? That’s a whole different level of gutsiness. 

“That’s wonderful,” Phil says. “I hope it goes well.”

Clint nods. “Same.”

“Mark’s prepared for all kinds of directions the conversation could go into. We talked it through last night.”

“It will be fine,” Max says.

Jen turns to him. “What makes you think that?”

“He’s not going to say anything mean to Dad. And Eric’s outnumbered now! We all like boys except for him.”

“We do, don’t we?” Jen affirms.

Clint hides his grin behind his mug. 

Phil manages a straight face. “That’s sound logic.”

“I know.” Max spreads more jam on his muffin.

The conversation moves on to Max’s ice skating meet-up with school friends. Clint listens with one ear, unfamiliar names of kids and streets floating past him. He notices that Max moves closer to him as the planning proceeds. Clint doesn’t mind even though it makes his left arm unusable. He can see Jen frowning and opening her mouth, but Clint shakes his head at her. He doesn’t want Max to be admonished for seeking comfort and affection from the people close to him. 

When Jen leaves to find Max’s skates, Max asks, “Are you still going to be here when I get back?” The wobble in his voice says everything about why he is glued to Clint’s side.

“Of course,” Phil says. “Our flight isn’t until 7pm.”

“We’re having an early dinner, remember?” Clint adds.

“Just wanted to make sure,” Max mumbles.

“That’s alright.” Clint loops an arm around Max’s shoulders. “I’m sorry we can’t stay longer, but Uncle Phil needs to go back to work.” Because Phil is a good guy who works the week after Christmas so that people with kids can take more time off. “But you know what? Phil and I have an idea for next summer.” Clint glances at Phil to make sure he’s on board with telling Max about their plans. Phil smiles.

“Are you going to visit us again?”

“No, but we were thinking that you could visit us in New York.”

“With Mom and Dad and Eric, like before?”

Phil takes this one. “The invitation is just for you. Well, your mom will fly out with you, but then it’ll just be you and me and Clint.”

Max looks back and forth between them, a cautious joy on his face. “I could stay with you? For the whole summer?”

“Not the whole summer,” Clint says. “But for a couple of weeks, yes. What do you think?”

Max hugs Clint with such a force that he nearly knocks him off the bench. “Yes.” He lets go abruptly. “I have to tell Mom!” He clambers off the bench and is out of the kitchen in a flash. “Moooom! Mom! Uncle Phil and Clint said I can stay with them next summer!”

Phil reaches across the table to take Clint’s hand. “I think he’s excited.”

“Just a little bit.” Clint studies Phil: the stubble he didn’t bother to shave this morning, the crinkles that appear next to his eyes because he’s smiling at Clint, and the familiar weight of his fingers against Clint’s palm. “I hope this doesn’t turn out to be a mistake.”

“It won’t.” Phil sounds certain. “There are probably a few bumps in the road, but we’ll deal with them. And Jen and Mark are just a phone call away.”

“You’re right. You’ll probably have to tell me that a lot in the next few months.” Clint wants to make sure Max has the best time. 

Phil squeezes his hand. “I’m happy to.”

Max rushes back into the kitchen, followed by Jen with her arms full of skates, a thick winter jacket, gloves, and a hat. “Mom said I can go! And that she’ll fly with me so that I don’t get lost in the airport and then she’ll stay for a night and then she’s going to leave. Can I come to work with you, Clint? And see all the birds in Central Park?”

“I’m not sure if we can see _all_ the birds in the park, but yes.”

__“But no climbing on bridges,” Jen declares._ _

__“Definitely not.” Even Clint knows that. He doesn’t take anyone on the bridges unless they have a basic climbing certificate._ _

__“Good.” She takes Max by the shoulders and steers him toward the stairs. “Okay, young man, time to get out of these PJs and into your winter clothes so you won’t be late.”_ _

__Once Max is dressed, a lot of rushing back and forth ensues to gather everything: snacks and skates, keys and phones, Katie’s Christmas gift, spare pairs of gloves and socks. It all seems to take forever, but Jen still manages to get Max ready just in time for Katie’s mom to ring the bell. Clint would have been completely lost._ _

__He and Phil walk Max to the door. They both get hugs and give out reassurances that they will still be there when Max returns. Satisfied, Max tears down the driveway toward the idling car. Shrieks of laughter emerge when he opens the door._ _

__“I wouldn’t want that job,” Clint observes as Katie’s mother gets into the car._ _

__“Taking a gaggle of nine-year olds skating?” Phil asks._ _

__Clint hums in agreement._ _

__“They do seem like a handful.” Phil closes the door. He steps into Clint’s personal space and settles his hands on his hips. “Want to be lazy and sprawl on the couch?”_ _

__“Absolutely.”_ _

__It’s the perfect way to end their visit: a few hours lazing about and then a low-key dinner with everyone. As much as he’ll miss Max, Clint is looking forward to going home. There will be actual bagels for breakfast tomorrow, and they’ll have Christmas with Nat in two days, and the city will still be lit up with decorations but be much more manageable now that the seasonal tourism has calmed down._ _

__With a quiet happiness in his heart, Clint follows Phil into the living room._ _

**Author's Note:**

> In this story, Eric has an outburst in which he throws a number of insulting statements at Max regarding his gender expression (this happens at the beginning of Chapter 2). Eric's outburst and Max's response are discussed for the rest of the fic; you learn why it happened and how the family addresses it. Max's parents, Phil, and Clint remain completely supportive of Max the whole time.


End file.
